Delta Blues
by drlve
Summary: Until a certain point in her life she knew no real pain or defeat. That all changed with a phone call. What happens when Rory's life stops being magical? He's been through hell and has only one goal in sight. Until she crosses his path again. Is there a way to heal for them or does fate have other plans? AU Trory. Angst like you wouldn't believe. Very M. You know how this goes.
1. Sings the streets a serenade

Author's note: This story was originally conceived years ago and it changed a lot from the original concept, but it is set from 2013 to present day and ignores AYITLO completely.

Summary: Until a certain point in her life she knew no real pain or defeat. That all changed with a phone call. What happens when Rory's life stops being magical?  
He's been through hell and has only one goal in sight. Until she crosses his path again. Is there a way to heal for them or does fate have other plans?  
AU Trory. Angst like you wouldn't believe. Very M. You know how this goes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. 

* * *

She'd been craning her neck to spot him again since their eyes met in the crowd after his name was called.

Hers must have conveyed surprise, while his showed only a flash of what she thought was annoyance, like he had been caught.

She could have decoded that as a warning, as a firm sign to stay away, but her nature, curious as it was, would yield to no such secret warnings, no matter how stern his face was.

She made her way towards the other end of the large hall, where people were slowly filing towards in an effort to vacate the premise and she came to stand by the rail that separated the hall from the exit below. It was a good vantage point, her back towards the glass railing over the dizzying height. Her eyes searched the crowd, trailing over groups of people in animated conversations and heartfelt greetings.

She spotted him finally, in a brusque walk, heading not in the direction of the stairs leading towards the exit but the opposite way.

"Were you not going to say hi?" she said, her tone slightly scolding as she called after him, in a hurry to pass her by. She didn't feel the need to raise her voice, knowing he'd hear her anyway, his demeanor somehow letting her know he was aware of her, fine tuned to her, even if he had been hoping that wasn't the case for her.

He froze, his back straight as a rod in the dark blue uniform and she counted the seconds for his next move.

There was a soft sigh as he slowly turned to face her. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, eagerly, his features strange and familiar at the same time. She saw a faint smirk when he came to stand next to her as she remained leaning casually on the glass rail.

"I didn't think you recognized me" he said, his voice deeper than she remembered, his eyes downcast.

She realized that it had been 14 years and the voice she remembered was that of a child, while he was a grown man now, his face more angular, his features more worn somehow.

"Of course I recognized you" she retorted, her voice more sullen as her demeanor unconsciously adjusted to the air he exuded.

He looked up at her finally and she was suddenly reminded of the striking blue paleness of his eyes. She felt an inexplicable surge from deep within her abdomen, making her inhale sharply. She took a steadying breath, dismissing the moment as nostalgia. She returned her full attention to him, his eyes studying her silently as the soft smirk she knew from memory appeared.

"Rory Gilmore, sweet as a Mary" he murmured softly.

She felt her cheeks flush and it surprised her, the notion having turned foreign to her in the last years of her life.

"Tristan DuGray, king of Chilton" she replied.

He shook his head, an amused expression on his face.

"Another lifetime" he said curtly, his voice quiet.

Her eyes studied his face, his boyish looks morphed into more defined edges, his shining blue eyes serious and captivating, his hair a dirty blond, peeking out from under his beret. Her eyes traveled down to his torso, lean and muscular, clad in his impeccably kept dress blues, his chest adorned with colorful decorations.

"Now it's Tristan DuGray...," she said, her eyes squinting as she studied his rank, "master sergeant."

He nodded, a moment's surprise passing over his face.

"You know your ranks" he said and she felt his searching gaze on herself.

"Yeah," she shrugged, "I did a piece on troops stationed in Afghanistan..."

"I know" he cut her off, his voice quiet, but slightly cold.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

She was always surprised by the fact people knew about her work, read her work. Yes, the point was to write for people, for them to read her musings, but she wasn't any less surprised to find out the words she put down on paper weren't just solemn shouts into the night, but words that reached people, had consequences. If there were any words of hers that this was true for, it would have been the article in question, she knew. Still she was surprised. Also, this wasn't the usual reaction to this particular set of words.

"You read that?" she asked, her voice perplexed.

He glanced around not holding eye contact with her and not bothering to answer her question.

"And apparently wasn't a fan" she said, trying in vain to lighten the mood, while she felt the sting of the moment.

She glanced around as well, seeing the happy and proud families greeting their awarded soldiers. He looked even more particular standing alone in the crowded ceremonial hall of the Pentagon.

She looked back at him.

He was silent as his eyes landed on her again, the reappearing smirk not quite enough to sooth her doubts.

"I got a Pulitzer for that, you know" she said, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"Huh" he murmured, his smirk growing more pronounced. His reaction was a clear indication he knew exactly what kind of response that article garnered but was definitely not on the same opinion.

"What?" she asked, irritated, suddenly remembering the feeling this boy used to give her back in high school. Feelings of insecurity, a need to be on guard at all times.

"It was well written" he replied and it felt like placating.

"But?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's what people want to read about Afghanistan" he shrugged, voice unaffected.

It was a special kind of skill he possessed, putting her down with just a mere amount of words, yet having her stand speechless in his wake.

"Really? I thought it was exactly what people didn't want to read. The human side of it. The hopelessness of it..." she launched into her explanation, feeling defensive.

"It was romanticizing" he cut her off, his voice still soft, but it might as well have been loud because she felt the knee jerk reaction of anger rise up within her.

She scoffed.

"Care to elaborate?" she gritted out, knowing she was letting him get under her skin and she was showing it.

He studied her for a beat, his face calm, amused even.

"I think it's what people want to hear about war. That we go there, bright eyed and bushy tailed and then realize that life is more precious than anything else, that family is more important than anything else. You found someone you could project these clichés onto. A weak link" he replied, his words measured. His eyes focused on her as he spoke, giving her a strange feeling, as though she were armorless under the scrutiny of those pale orbs.

She scoffed again, the air leaving her lungs in a stunned breath. His words stung but also left an uneasy feeling inside her and she wondered how they've gotten to this point in a conversation in a matter of minutes.

She was once again reminded that he was standing alone, fleeing, in a sea of families.

"A weak link? He seemed pretty brave to me. He lost so much and the only thing that kept him going was focusing on what he had back here..." she said, her voice faltering slightly as she gestured around her.

"See that's it. It's what people want to read, that he had to have something to keep him going," he replied moving slightly closer to her, "other than just determination."

The indifference in his voice, the restrained way he made his argument unnerved her.

"You are saying that he is made to be seen as weak because he is motivated by his family?" she deadpanned, her forehead scrunching in concentration.

"You don't need a sob story to do your job right" he replied, conviction in his voice.

"I don't understand" she said shaking her head as she studied his face.

"Yeah, I know" he said, without hesitation, letting her words be her own conviction.

"Hey" she scoffed, a little more hurt than she would have liked.

"I am not trying to be disrespectful" he smiled softly, raising his arms in a gesture of defense.

"You are not being very respectful either" she murmured, turning to absentmindedly place a hand on the rail as she took a break from focusing on his unyielding face.

He didn't answer but studied her face instead, that amused smirk appearing again.

There was a moment of silence which felt oddly calming to her, despite the annoyance she should have felt as a result of his words.

"So you don't worry about your family?" she asked quietly, looking down into the lobby swirling with people.

"I don't have a family" he replied, void of emotions.

She glanced around again, seeing the happy families clear the room. Wives, children, parents and friends. Why did he have no one here?

"You have a mom and dad and grandparents" she probed, unsure if she should push further.

"Yeah" he agreed, not elaborating.

There was another silence, not the first occurrence, and he seemed to be more comfortable with them whereas she had an urge to speak and break the anxiety.

"You must think of them when you are out there..." she went further feeling as though she was venturing out on thin ice.

"I think about doing my job" he cut her off. "And staying alive. Anyone who tells you he can think of anything else while out there...," he trailed off for a second and it made her think about what ' _out there_ ' must have meant, "is lying" he finally finished his sentence. The finality of his words overwhelmed her, silenced her.

She looked at him, studying his face. It was back to calm, but his eyes seemed unreadable.

"Anyone who's been there and reads your article...," he shrugged, "knows it's about as close to reality as any of these movies they make" he said, his voice contemplative and she wondered about what he had seen.

"For the rest of the world, I can understand why it's Pulitzer worthy" he said calmly.

"It is well written" he added, his smirk back in place.

She stared at him unable to reply.

"I am not trying to be disrespectful..." he repeated.

"What happened to you?" she cut him off, her question anxious in the silence, her eyes squinting as she focused on his eyes as if she had the ability to see into his head.

He glanced at her, his face emotionless.

"Nothing" he replied, his tone slightly defensive.

"You got a Purple Heart" she said pointedly, her eyes unconsciously skimming his figure.

"Just now. You got a Purple Heart. It means you got shot" she continued her argument.

His face hardened infinitesimally.

She waited, for a confirmation or denial or him to turn and walk away, she wasn't sure. Long seconds passed and she felt like he was not going to budge.

"Are you on leave?" she asked, trying another route, knowing she was onto something, feeling the power balance shift for the first time during this whole strange exchange.

He faltered for a second.

"Yes" he replied, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Medical?" she asked.

"Yes" he sighed, barely noticeably.

"How?" she asked, feeling like how she usually did when she felt she was making a headway during an interview, finally feeling the other person cornered.

"How what?" he asked back, annoying her in the process.

It was stalling on his part, the first time he let that annoyingly efficient mask of calm slip. It didn't make her giddy. Instead she felt a pang of worry, of hurt, her eyes searching his quietly.

"How were you hurt?" she elaborated, her tone still calm, as if she were nudging a petulant child.

"I was on a mission" he replied with a shrug, his cynical tone a clear indication he felt uneasy having to share.

She looked around again, seeing soldiers in animated conversation with each other introducing each other to family members.

"The rest of your troop?" she asked as she studied his face once again, her eyes narrowed.

She thought she saw something flash in his eyes, but a sudden laugh from him made her unsure she did.

"Oh, so you are a psychologist too?" he chuckled.

"No, but it doesn't take a lot to figure out..." she started, driving her point home.

"Figure out what?" he cut her off looking into her eyes.

She noted that even now, he showed no emotion, his voice remaining calm, but still she felt her whole body chill, her determination wavering.

"Rory, I am not your next subject for a sob story" he said, his voice suddenly tired.

"I am not looking for a sob story. I report reality. That's what I do, I am not a fiction writer" she said, a little too defensive to her own ears.

He nodded and it infuriated her as much as though he had contradicted her.

They stared at each other as the crowd thinned around them and she felt like the sudden silence was taking over them, numbing them.

"Are you going to go back?" she asked, a strange sense of unease stirring within her.

"Yes" he replied without missing a beat.

"Why?" she asked, not able to hide the astonishment in her tone.

"Because it's what I do" he replied simply.

"When?" she asked.

"I don't know yet" he replied, after a slight pause.

"They are not letting you?" she said, more a statement than a question, going on a hunch, her mind in investigative mode. It occurred to her that she was overstepping but she seemed to feel no restraint, their conversation filled with a strange intimacy despite the ten odd years they've not spoken to each other.

"I am scheduled for an assessment..." he said, clearing his throat.

"How bad were you hurt?" she cut him off again, that uneasy feeling once again filling her chest.

There was silence, too long to be coincidental, she thought, before he finally answered. His eyes were trailed on her hand on the rail.

"Not that much" he finally said, his voice once again controlled.

"It must have been worse than that if they are not letting you back" she murmured quietly.

He ignored the remark.

They stood silently, bodies unknowingly turned towards each other, even as they built walls in between themselves from words. She felt a strange kind of feeling, pulling and pushing in between them, something she recalled having experienced the first time he was present in his life, albeit briefly. It made her feel nostalgic and something else she couldn't name. Safe almost? As if this limbo of words was still more reliable than anything out there waiting for her.

"I'm gonna go change," he said quietly "are you in a hurry?"

She was taken off guard and her mind raced to catch up to the sudden turn of the conversation. She swore she heard a hint of insecurity in his voice but it was such a contrast to what she'd seen from him in the last couple of minutes.

"Change where?" she asked confused looking up at him as she shifted her weight.

"I have an office" he said, gesturing towards wherever he was first heading to when she stopped him.

She looked on confused.

"I work here" he gave as explanation, reluctantly looking into her eyes.

"You work at the Pentagon while you're on medical leave?" she asked, her brain churning.

"I'm an advisor" he said as if that would be enough of an explanation. He was already turning away from her, his movements indecisive. He glanced back at her as if he wasn't sure what they'd agreed on. She wasn't either, to tell the truth.

"I'll be back in ten minutes if you're not in a hurry" he said, a quite declaration laced with a myriad emotions she could not identify.

"I'll wait here" she replied, giving up trying to explain the course of events. He nodded, turning to walk away. 

* * *

She was standing close to the wall of the lobby watching the last of the happy families depart.

Her mind was churning, trying to recall memories from that one or two years that she knew him. It was a painful process as she had to reign in her memories, not used to letting them unleash and wreck havoc within her. She concentrated on memories inside the halls of Chilton, her mind suddenly vividly remembering the stony smell of the courtyard, the hollow echoing of the halls. She remembered him, an annoying coolness desperately trying to hide the insecurity and, she guessed, neglect, his relentless pursuit of punishment no doubt a cry for help. Somehow she had a hard time trying to connect the two dots: spoiled society scoundrel and decorated war hero.

"You ready?" she heard him ask and she turned to him startled.

He changed into jeans and a blue shirt, buttoned all the way up, with a leather jacket covering it. His beret gone, she could see that his hair was longer than she remembered, slicked back in a vain attempt to control the messy locks. Her memories of his tall and lean form contradicted his current build, his shoulders broad and his arms stretching his jacket sleeves.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer" he murmured and she shook her head in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. It's just weird to see you all grown up" she smiled.

He returned her smile.

"I know what you mean" he said slowly, his eyes traveling over her figure, making her blush again.

She felt self conscious, glancing down on her white shirt, pencil skirt and flats. She was holding onto her trench coat, her bag slung over her shoulder.

"Did you come with a car?" he asked his pale eyes glancing towards the exit.

She shook her head.

"I don't drive" she said as an explanation, but she already felt uneasy, knowing it was an opening to topics she'd rather not get into.

"You?" she asked quickly instead.

"Nah, I walk whenever I can" he said and she looked at him, her own curiosity ignited. "It's good exercise," he added, "plus I live right on the other side of the river."

She turned, glancing towards the direction he was pointing at vaguely, as if trying to identify the place he was referring to.

"Where are you headed?" He asked, making her turn back to her.

His eyes were focused on her, making her feel a strange warmth spreading beneath her skin.

"Georgetown" she replied, suddenly not in a particular hurry.

Her eyes were glued to his, as if he had some strange magnetic pull and she wondered why the extended eye contact didn't make her feel uncomfortable like it usually did. Having him know her, know her past, yet knowing nothing about her present made her feel brazen and relaxed at the same time. It was a strange whirlpool of feelings and she didn't mind the pull of the current.

"You want to walk? If you're not in a hurry?" he asked, his voice once again laced with a hint of insecurity.

"Yeah, sure" she smiled a weary smile as she opened the glass doors leading outside.

They stepped out into the bright and windy afternoon, a stark contrast to the gloomy, silent interior. She lifted her coat to slide her arm into it and was surprised as she felt him take it and hold it out for her, his closeness behind her sending a chill down her spine. She stepped away as if to break free of the sensation of his proximity and he nodded as she finished tying her belt around her waist.

They turned towards the cemetery and she noted how he carried himself. He was calm and collected, perfect posture with slow but purposeful strides, but there was something about his gait, something about his steps, something strange that she couldn't pinpoint.

"It's a two hour walk to Georgetown, you know" she pointed out, letting her voice tingle playfully.

"Hmm" he nodded.

"At least, do I get to ask more questions?" she asked as they strolled.

"I knew better than to strike up a conversation with the press" he chuckled. "Why were you here anyway?"

"The guy I interviewed, the weak one," she emphasized using air quotes, "got a Medal of Honor."

"Good for him" he nodded.

"How many of those do you have?" she asked remembering his many decorations.

"A couple. They dish those out left and right" he shrugged and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Can I ask which division you're in?" she said as they made their way carefully towards the lush green pastures of Arlington Cemetery. She looked at the distinct white of the rows and rows of identical headstones, it's structure filling her with a lulled sense of peace despite the overwhelming burden of their meaning. It always astonished her and she wondered if that was the point - counterbalance pain with order, with a pattern, with repetition. Much like the army itself.

There was a moment of silence as they both stood studying the cemetery with each of them lost in their own thoughts.

She looked at him and realized he still hadn't attempted to give an answer to her question. She wondered if he was uncomfortable talking about it. It seemed strange to her, most of the soldiers she'd met proudly proclaiming their information to her as if they were rattling off achievements.

"160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment" he finally said, his voice quiet, calm.

"The dudes on the Black Hawks" she said, surprised.

She saw him turn to her in surprise, his eyes squinting slightly.

"You really did your research for that article" he murmured.

"The Night Stalkers. Rescue missions, special operation raids" she said, turning to him, concentrating on the lines of his face.

"Yeah" he said slowly, carefully and without further explanation, walked through the southeastern gate.

She followed him, speeding up her steps to catch up.

"So what happened?" she asked.

He looked at her for a moment as he walked, his face showing no signs of emotions.

"Nothing. I got hurt. I am on medical leave" he said, and she had a distinct feeling that it was a bluff. She opened her mouth to ask the next question but he cut in before she could get it out.

"What about you? You are a reporter. Like Ammanpour. That was your dream, wasn't it?" he asked, eyeing her from the corner of his eyes.

She registered his latest maneuver to change the subject and sighed, pushing the play button for this particular answer.

"Yeah, something like that. I graduated from Yale. Started reporting during the Obama campaign and then got a job as White House Correspondent. Did that for three years and then started doing freelance. Mostly based here, but I travel a lot" she said, nodding.

"Hmm" he studied her. "Like to Afghanistan" he said.

"Yeah" she agreed.

"Doesn't your family worry?" he asked.

"I don't have a family" she said, her voice suddenly sounding harsh to her own ears.

He paused for a second to study her and she looked around uneasy, feeling like he was trying to analyze her reactions.

"You have a mom and a dad and grandparents" he said, and she couldn't tell if he was being cynical or not, repeating her lines from earlier.

She felt faint for a second, her ears ringing slightly, but she shook her head, taking a deep breath. She didn't feel the need to correct him.

"Yeah. They worry" she said mechanically. She frowned, trying to keep her head clear.

"I thought you would be married by now" he said and she looked up, almost gasping in surprise, his voice bringing her back to the conversation.

He narrowed his eyes as he once again studied her sudden reaction and she felt a flash of annoyance.

"I am happy with my life. I don't think a husband would appreciate me jetting off for weeks at a time."

He nodded.

"What about you?" she asked, absent minded. "No wife waiting for you back on the home front?"

He looked at her, his eyes resting on hers and she realized for the first time how old his looked, worn and sad.

"No" he said simply, his face once again blank.

She thought about the way he said that but didn't press further. The conversation they had seemed relaxed and volatile at the same time, switching from one to the other in mere seconds. It left her feeling uneasy.

He resumed walking, navigating the paths with ease and she fell into step next to him. The wind blew in persistent spring bursts and she tightened her trench coat around herself.

"You seem different" she said absent minded.

He chuckled, the sound warming her ears.

"That's probably a good thing" he said. "I was a jerk back then."

"A jerk? No" she mused. "Why, just because you picked a fight with my boyfriend in front of the whole school? And annoyed me every chance you got?"

He stalled closing his eyes with an embarrassed smile.

"I was hoping you forgot some of that."

He resumed walking and she studied him.

"Was it military school? Is that what changed you? Is that why you chose to do what you do?" she asked, trying to trace the unknown occurrence of events between that rebel of a boy she remembered and this man walking next to her.

"Yeah, I guess. It was a shock for sure. But it made me see things differently. Gave me a chance to meet people that I somehow managed to relate to."

She concentrated, but still couldn't see the process.

"And you? Have you changed?" he asked, amused.

She took a deep breath looking around and spotting the Unknown Soldier Monument, it's circular walls and white steps standing weary in the distance.

"I'm sure I have" she shrugged "who really survives growing up unchanged?" 

* * *

They had been walking for hours now, she knew, but somehow she didn't feel tired or bored. The spring light was turning into an orange sunset, painting the streets of Georgetown in a glowing light.

Their conversation was a strange rhythm of staccato and she felt she had to be on guard at all times, because his questions were strangely to the point, stirring emotions inside of her that she didn't want unchecked. She felt he had the same issues, as most of her questions regarding his job were met with curt and unyielding responses.

They found a safe topic when he asked about her work.

"Do you enjoy the travel?" he asked.

"I do" she shrugged "I know people like their own space and their own well worn things, but there is something liberating about not knowing where you're going to sleep next week and who you're going to meet. If I'm traveling, it's always a new task, a new list of things to see and do, new people to interact with."

She looked around, studying the busy riverfront walk as they descended the steps to the river.

He was a couple of steps ahead and he looked back up at her carefully descending the steep steps to the water.

"Your mom must worry" he said and she lost her balance instantly, the world spinning in chaos.

She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing counting to herself.

When she opened them he was steadying her with his hands on both her arms watching her curiously. She braced herself for questions but he stayed quiet. He lifted her suddenly, it seemed without any effort at all, and placed her down on the last step. She looked up, his closeness clouding her senses again. She felt the hard muscles of his arm under her fingers and she felt an instant urge to step closer to him and avoid any further chances of difficult turns of conversation by giving into the strange pull she felt towards him.

She took a breath, taking a step back to put distance between them, turning to stare at the river. She didn't need to make a bigger mess than was necessary.

She closed her eyes, registering the noises of the busy park.

"Do you go back to Hartford a lot?" he asked and she felt panic inside of her, as though he was onto something. She suddenly had an urge to flee, putting an end to this strange meeting.

"Not so much, no. You?" she countered taking another steadying breath.

He shook his head.

"I don't keep in touch" he said quietly.

"Do they not approve?" she asked and she saw his jaw tense. She studied his face, as if set in stone and she thought she recognized the same panicked feelings stirring beneath his surface that she herself just battled a few moments ago. It made him seem strangely sympathetic and she felt that strange pull towards him again although he wasn't standing nearly as close to her as the previous times she'd felt it.

"I guess" he shrugged. "Doesn't really matter."

She knew the curtness of the answer, she recognized the deflection as her own and she knew it masked a myriad of indescribable emotions, of pain and hurt and angst, all ground together into a steely resolve.

She saw him tense under her scrutiny and he turned walking up the stairs.

"Come on, let's get a coffee" he said without looking back.

She took a deep breath, needing to close her eyes again to calm herself, but it only took her a moment before she turned and followed him, carefully ascending the stairs.

He was much quicker and he was already at a cart that was selling beverages by the time she caught up.

"Two coffees" ha said, searching for change in his pocket.

"Tea for me" she corrected him and waited patiently as her order was handed to her.

She started walking north, heading toward the exit of Waterfront Park as he finished paying.

"Didn't you use to drink coffee by the bucket?" he asked, his voice amused.

"Another lifetime" she quoted his words, her tone bittersweet.

They exited the park, making their way towards the colorful streets of Georgetown. She loved the always lively streets, the crowds and the noise. It made her calm, the happy chaos lulling her senses and always managing to drown out the noise inside her head.

She glanced at him and she realized that the neighborhood didn't have the same effect on him. His posture was stiff, his gaze wandering constantly as if checking for imminent danger. She wondered for a second and she realized how this lively, colorful scene must look like to someone with the unwavering resolve to go back to where there is only shades of sand and dirt.

"It's weird to be in this city after coming back from the other side of the world. It's like a dollhouse. Everything seems unreal" she mused trying to connect to him and also lift the heavy mood suddenly bearing over them.

He listened to her, his eyes studying her for long seconds, showing no reaction.

"It must be even worse for you, after such a long time" she went on, once again trying to steer the conversation.

"It is strange" he agreed, not elaborating further.

She wondered if there was a door on his miles and miles of walls. She felt like she was trekking the circumference and every time she thought she spotted one it turned out to be bolted shut from the inside.

"When did you come back?" she asked him, trying again.

"I was in Germany for a while, came back 7 months ago from there" he replied.

"Why were you in Germany?" she asked latching on.

He walked silently next to her, as if contemplating his options and she wondered if he was going to ever answer the question.

"It's where they treated me" came his response, quiet.

It made her feel uneasy. _A while._

"How badly were you hurt?" she asked again, worried.

"Do I look badly hurt?" he asked smiling.

She looked him over. He didn't look hurt. If anything, he looked healthy, strong. No signs of injuries. None that she could see.

"No" she said.

"I wasn't then" he chuckled.

She studied his face, totally cool, unyielding and she wondered if there was truth to that. That if one did not look hurt, one was not hurt. She pondered if a person could truly get through an injury of that nature, however small or insignificant without his soul injuring as well. There was silence again and she felt like she should stop trying to probe.

"You don't talk much" she pointed out.

"No" he chuckled again.

"I feel like you are this other person" she murmured, surprising even herself with her blatant words.

"I am" he replied honestly and she squinted at him again, as if she could see into his brain.

"This is me" she stopped and watched as he looked up absent minded.

"Oh" he said, looking up at the brownstone.

They stood in front of the building, regarding each other curiously. She looked at this man, so familiar, but still so very foreign and she wondered for a second about the absurdity of life and how unpredictable people's travels turn out.

"It was... weird to see you, Tristan" she said quietly and he chuckled again.

"You too" he said, voice soft.

"If you want to get a drink or something...," she rambled, fishing into her bag, "here is my card with my number."

The moment his fingers took the white card from hers she felt unsure, ridiculous. For a second it crossed her mind that he probably won't call, that they'll probably never see each other again. She wasn't sure if that wasn't how it should be anyway.

He looked at the card with humor, nodding.

"I'll see you around, Mary" he said, his eyes still on her card. He looked up with his smirk in place then turned without saying goodbye. She watched his form disappear into the darkening street, his gait once again catching her attention. She studied the way he moved, tall and stiff, his steps measured as if the mechanics of walking were sharply controlled by him and not just an automatic function of his nervous system.


	2. Laying everybody low

Author's note: Thank you to all who submitted a review, they really make my day! 

* * *

Dusk was creeping up on her as she turned onto her street, her head buzzing lightly with an imminent headache.

She stopped abruptly as she noticed him sitting on her steps. He was looking at her, his face unreadable. He made no move to stand.

"Lost my card?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

He smirked lightly, looking up at the sky and squinting in the fading sunshine. He was dressed casually, but his shirt was buttoned up all the way, as though he was wearing his uniform.

"I don't have a phone" he shrugged.

"Where you looking for a phone booth for the past ten days?" she asked, her tone slightly cynical.

He chuckled, not commenting.

She walked up, sitting down next to him.

The stone of the steps was cold under her.

"I was debating this" he said, his voice vague.

"Okay?" she replied carefully, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Do you like hotdogs?" he asked catching her off guard.

"Yeah" she said, watching as he got up.

"What was the debate about?" she pulled him back to the previous subject, not moving from her spot.

He sighed and a long silence ensued.

"You seem like you have your life together" he said finally, glancing up at her.

She didn't know if he was answering her question or just deferring like he tended to.

"Do I?" she asked with a smirk.

"Are you going on assignments anytime soon?" he asked.

She sighed, concluding that it was in fact deferring on his part.

"Umm... yeah... I am actually leaving in the next couple of weeks for Moscow" she said.

"That sounds cool" he replied.

"Yeah" she said, frowning.

He frustrated her to no end. Every sentence seemed to be a new conversation, the old one abandoned and her curiosity left to simmer unsatisfied.

"Why did you come to see me?" she asked, standing up.

He stopped, his face calm, pondering.

"I like talking to you" he replied, his eyes studying the steps beneath her feet.

"Really?" she scoffed, unconvinced. "We don't seem to agree on much" she pointed out.

"Disagreement makes for stimulating conversation" he countered.

"And you change the subject any chance you get, I literally have whiplash injuries just trying to follow you" she went on.

He nodded agreeing, annoying her to no end.

He stepped closer to her, looking down at her feet.

"It's weird to be near you again" he said, his words soft.

She felt her heartbeat speed up, his nearness fine-tuning her senses.

"Why?" she whispered.

"You remind me of how I was when I knew you" he said, catching her off guard.

"How?" she asked.

"You rattle me" he replied and she tried to understand the meaning. She thought of their last encounter, the long walk, with the uncomfortable flow of conversation, the strange magnetic pull she felt whenever his body was in a close vicinity to her. She wondered if that's what he meant or if it was her questions, insistent and probing.

"How do I rattle you?" she asked, wanting more clarity.

"I don't know" he chuckled, shrugging. It made her sigh. Somehow she had the feeling that rather than not having an explanation, it was easier for him not to elaborate.

"You annoy me very much" she sighed.

"That must be it" he smirked, looking at her.

She held her breath, his closeness making her shiver.

It made her realize how frustrated she was that she hadn't heard from him. She thought about him daily, his figure in an impeccable uniform, moving with those carefully controlled movements, he crossed her mind often and she thought of a thousand new questions she wanted to ask him. And on top of all that, she felt a nervous anxiety, when she thought of him, an inexplicable hum inside her mind, leaving her restless.

"What were you debating?" she asked, barely audible.

"Who's changing the subject now?" he asked.

"What were you debating?" she repeated the question, looking at him intently.

He held her gaze, his eyes such a stark contrast to the calmness of his face.

"Whether it was a good idea to see you again" he replied calmly.

Somehow it seemed to her like it was the most honest answer he'd ever given her. The words made her shiver and she felt that hum, not just in her mind, but in the whole of her body.

"Why?" she asked, holding her breath.

"Because I know how it's going to end" he replied and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"How is it going to end?" she asked, her words barely loud enough to hear.

"I am going to want to go home with you" he stated, his smirk gone.

Her heartbeat faltered and she sucked in a breath, trying to seem nonchalant and failing miserably. She felt lightheaded, an electric current racing from limb to limb as her stomach fluttered.

"And that would be troublesome because...?" she asked, holding her breath.

He looked at her, and she could swear there was a flash of pain in his eyes, a flash of emotion that made her heart sting.

He sighed, his fingers brushing hair out of her face.

"You seem to have your life together" he repeated.

She nodded her head and smiled.

The bad boy routine.

The 'I am entirely too wrong for you' routine.

God she hated that.

She stepped away from him, breaking the pull of gravity she felt up till now. She started walking down the stairs, away from her apartment.

"Let's get those hotdogs" she murmured.

She didn't look back, hearing his footsteps as he started to follow her. 

* * *

She was making her way towards the table where he was sitting, balancing the hotdogs in her hand. He had offered to get them when they found the food truck, but she brushed him off, making him guard the free table they found instead while she stood in line to get their order.

She placed the paper tray in front of him and he thanked her.

"Logan called about three times" he said and she froze.

He nodded towards the phone she left on the table and she cursed silently.

"He also sent about three messages counting by the 'uh-oh' noises your phone made" he went on amused.

She flicked the phone to silent without checking the messages and dropped it into the purse hanging on the back of her chair.

"Is Logan your boyfriend?" he asked studying her as she arranged their food.

"No" she replied instantly. "Not... not anymore."

She bit into her hotdog but she still saw him arching an eyebrow.

He waited patiently without touching his food and she rolled her eyes.

"We used to date in college" she offered as an explanation, her mouth full.

"And he checks in regularly?" he asked.

She glanced at him wondering how to describe the situation.

"We hook up sometimes" she finally said, her voice without a hint of embarrassment, knowing her answer would effectively silence him.

She felt his eyes on her for another couple of seconds before he reached out to start on his food.

A strange silence enveloped them and she sighed, feeling uneasy.

She took a deep breath, ready to change the subject.

"So 160th Regiment?" she started studying his face.

He gave no indication of registering her words but she knew he heard her.

He chewed slowly, taking big bites from his food and she noted he was already halfway through his hotdog.

"I looked you up," she went on, "the army has no official record on you after 2008. You are not on the list of soldiers hurt in Afghanistan."

He turned to her, studying her face, continuing to chew but not taking another bite.

"I never said I was hurt in Afghanistan" he pointed out, his words quiet.

She squinted, realizing it was true. She had just assumed.

"And the press release for the medal ceremony... it didn't list you" she went on, listing the strange results of her research.

"Huh. That's strange" he murmured as he took another bite.

"It's what they do for people in the Special Forces" she stated.

"Hmm" he hummed, his mouth full and his eyes studying the remainder of his food.

"What exactly do you do, Tristan?" she asked, her voice serious.

He finished chewing his food and swallowed, his eyes regarding her.

"I'm an advisor at the Pentagon" he replied finally.

"What did you do when you got hurt?" came her follow up.

He sighed.

"Rory. You're going to have to leave this alone" he said, his voice suddenly lower, a warning of sorts. It gave her a thrill and she couldn't quite place why.

"Why?" she asked, pushing.

"Because I can't talk about this" he replied.

"Can you talk about general stuff?" she asked, trying to find a leeway.

"General stuff?" he asked, his voice weary.

"Yeah. Like how in the hell the hotshot son of a Hartford lawyer ended up in the Special Forces?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He glanced around with an uneasy look.

"You want the actual timeline?" he murmured, his whole demeanor slightly pissed.

"Yeah, sure" she replied leaning back in her chair, her half finished food forgotten.

He eyed her, his face laced with a hint of annoyance she recalled from the first time she saw him again at the Pentagon.

"Okay" he sighed finally, his hands going up in a gesture of surrender "I went to Oak Ridge, the military school in North Carolina. I enlisted after graduation..." he started, making large leaps she noticed.

"You didn't go to college?" she interjected.

"No. I thought it would be a waste of time" he replied carefully, his eyes studying her.

"I did a tour in Iraq... then I became a Ranger and had three more tours" he went on, his words more quiet. She knew what he was talking about, having drawn up her own theories about what someone in the army with no official record might have been doing for the past 5 years.

"I was accepted for...," he furrowed his brows, looking for words, "a special program and I've been involved in more confidential missions" he said and she could tell he was struggling to give her as little as humanly possible.

"A special program?" she asked pointedly.

He sighed, putting down the rest of his food and reclining in his chair.

He regarded her with eyes that were stone cold.

"What? Like the SEALS?" she asked, her mind recalling memories from her days as a correspondent.

"I'm in the Army. But yeah, something like that" he nodded.

She squinted piecing together the crumbs of information. The SEALs were a navy branch. The army had a different special force.

"Delta" she said.

He glanced at her, as if he were trying to see into her thoughts.

She stared at him waiting for him to affirm or deny, but she could tell he was not going to cave and the possibility was as much as she was going to get.

"Rory" he warned, the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine.

"Off the record. Cross my heart" she smiled.

He sighed, his face in a frown.

"So what's the plan? What's the goal?" she tried a different angle.

"The goal?" he repeated with a small shake of his head.

"Yeah. You said you wanted to go back? To what? To the same missions that put you in a hospital for months? How long do you plan on doing that?"

She could tell her questions were getting personal, provocative, anxious.

He didn't reply, letting them linger in the air before he opened his mouth to speak in a careful, quiet manner.

"This is my job, Rory. It's what I do."

She shook her head slightly, not being able to grasp the concept. She felt a need to understand his resolution.

"Okay, so let's pretend we're having an interview" she said, leaning forward.

He looked at her unconvinced.

"Pretend, emphasis on pretend" she placated him. "Off the record. No recorder, no notes. Just pretend and I swear I'll never use anything you say. I just want to know" she smiled, gesturing enthusiastically.

"Why?" he asked, regarding her with a curious gaze.

"Because I feel like I have to understand this drive you have..." she explained.

"This drive...?" he asked, carefully tasting her own words.

"To go back" she finished her thought.

"Because?" he asked and she felt herself get frustrated.

"Because I don't understand it and you seem very certain that you're right" she replied impulsively.

"Right about?" he continued, seemingly wanting her to speak her mind.

"War" she finally said, exhausted.

"Okay," he leaned back in his chair, "let's talk about war."

She watched him, his face calm. She considered her argument before opening her mouth to speak.

"Do we agree on the fact that it's morally wrong?" she started, carefully choosing her words.

"Do we agree on the fact that it's morally wrong to kill other people?" he asked, his face slightly cynical. "Yes" came his answer, without missing a beat.

"This was a short interview" she deadpanned.

"Do we agree on the fact that it's a necessity?" he continued, surprising her as he leaned forward, his arms resting on the table between them.

"A necessity?" she asked, incredulous.

"Yes" he replied, face calm.

"Please elaborate" she urged him.

"It's protection" he offered and she shook her head unbelieving.

"By definition it's not protection, it's actively going and taking something that's not yours" she argued, gesturing with her hands.

"What is mine?" he asked, his style of argument, asking her to elaborate on all her answers frustrating her.

"What you were given" she retorted.

"Okay, so then how do you explain us sitting on sacred Sioux ground and munching on hotdogs?" he chuckled.

"This is not sacred..." she groaned.

"You get the point" he interjected.

"Just because history was built on morally questionable decisions it doesn't mean we have to keep repeating our mistakes" she argued, getting flustered.

"So you think, that today, all countries, small and big, wealthy to poor should just accept what they have, morally, and not take any of what's not theirs?" he asked and she felt backed into a corner, the argument she thought was a slam dunk somehow leaving her exposed.

"I think that those that are more wealthy have an obligation..." she tried in a futile attempt.

"An obligation to do what?" he asked, his voice confident.

"To hold other ones to those moral standards" she said, grasping at straws.

"Whose moral standards?" he asked and she looked at him defeated.

"These are general moral standards" she tried.

"Yes, to you, but in other parts of the world, not so much. You want to go explain some people who have lived the way they do for the past several thousand years that what they believe is fundamentally wrong?" He asked, his tone suddenly serious and it made her wonder about the things he'd seen.

"No, that's exactly what I don't want to do" she argued.

"Then you want to let them be the way they live?" He offered.

"Yes" she replied.

"Even if it's by oppressing women and... " he said, going in for the kill.

"Okay, hold on, you can't be responsible for other people's beliefs but you also can't go there and tell them what's right" she interjected.

"Until they do that to someone else, then you can do it?" he retorted.

She remained silent.

"That's the problem with you idealist..." he said, a smirk on his lips.

"Us idealists?" she asked, offended.

"... your ideas only make sense in an ideal world. But we don't live in an ideal world" he went on.

"What type of world do we live in?" she asked, with an eye roll.

"We live in a world where for thousands of years the goal was to survive. And to survive meant to be ruthless and take whatever you could from people that had the same goal" he replied, leaning forward.

"And then someone somewhere realized that we work better in groups, that the odds are better. So they created the idea of family, they created the idea of belonging, they created the idea of nations. And for this to work a lot of those survival urges had to be curved, so they created laws and since law is an elusive concept they created religion, because hope is always a bigger motivator than fear" he went on, his voice passionate.

She realized it was the most he'd ever said to her, his words a sweeping flow of reasoning.

"And from then on whoever wanted to protect their integrity, protect their ideals, protect their unique morality, they had to dish out for an army. And the army has to be top notch. It has to evolve, it has to improve. It has to be one step ahead of every other army, unless what's the point? This is why innovation is driven, this is why technology evolves, it's not to improve your life, but to protect how it is now. Evolving it is a byproduct of having the most advanced army in the world. You want to know why you have the freedom to do the job you want? You want to know why you live in a country that allows you to have the rights you morally think you're entitled to?" he asked and she watched him silently, a little in awe, as she realized his emotions taking a hold of him.

"It's because the majority of your tax dollars are spent on giving guys like me a tactical gear that you don't even know what it can do. Now you may think and hope that taking those tax dollars and spending it on education or health care is better spent, but in reality the minute you stop spending money, the minute you fall behind and don't have the most advanced army in the world? Suddenly those rights, those ideals are not as strongly represented in the world. You want to be an idealist and think that people will follow your moral lead? I've been to countries where a woman can't speak up when they murder her child right in front of her. We are not even a lifetime away from the time that several persons convinced whole continents it was okay to kill a certain race. The truth is we don't live in an ideal world. It's as simple as that" he finished his speech.

He leaned back in his chair and she was quiet for a few seconds, his logic overwhelming her. She shook her head slightly, getting her bearings.

"But this is not what's going on right? Because it's not as simple as that. Because there are guys who make a living off of all this. They make a living off of supplying you with tactical gear. And they become so influential that they start writing the rules and making decisions" she replied, finally finding her logic while her mind was still mesmerized by his monologue.

"It's not my job to justify the war. It's not my job to plan it. It's not my job to rationalize it. That's our job as a country. This is why you can go and vote and make your point on a soap box and influence the decision making. Executing the decisions does not equal to making the decisions" he brushed her off.

"Is that what helps you sleep at night?" she interjected, instantly feeling petty.

He leaned back in his chair sighing, but it didn't seem like defeat.

"I don't need help sleeping at night. That's how I know I was meant to do this."

She looked away, the swirl of emotions wrecking havoc inside of her.

"This... this happened to you in three years? You went from a girl-crazed troublemaker to a committed professional soldier in three years?" She asked, her mind hurting from that thought.

"Is that so hard to imagine?" he said, his mouth in a smirk.

"Yes" she half shouted.

He lifted his shoulders shrugging.

"I don't know what to tell you. It just fell into place."

He smiled at her discomfort.

"Can I ask why you need to understand me?" he asked leaning forward and wiping his hand with a napkin.

"What?" she asked dumbfounded, not understanding the sudden question.

"I feel like this isn't an interview but a need to justify your feelings" he elaborated slowly, carefully.

"My feelings of what?" she asked, blinking in confusion.

There was a beat of silence as she saw a hint of his infamous smirk cross his features.

"Attraction I'm guessing" he said, tossing the napkin onto the table between them.

"Wow. Someone's sure of himself" she laughed, eyebrows raised.

"I'm just extrapolating" he said, his words strikingly honest, his eyes catching hers.

The air seemed to crackle and she had to tell herself to tear her gaze away from his.

She felt her face flush.

"Tell me about Afghanistan. Or wherever you were secretly. Libya? Syria?" she said changing the topic. She sneaked a look of him as she took a bite from her unfinished hotdog.

He took a deep breath, squirming slightly.

"What would you like to hear, Rory?" he asked, eyeing his own food.

"How you saw it" she clarified and he nodded.

"I saw it as it is, Rory" he replied.

"Were you there for a long time?" she asked.

"Yes" he replied curtly.

"Doing what?" she probed further.

"I told you this already" he replied.

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me what you did" she said, studying his face.

"Most of those operations are confidential" he said.

She got the feeling that was convenient for him.

"Yet here you are having hotdogs with a journalist" she pointed out.

"I know. It's a pretty fucking dumbass move" he murmured under his breath.

She ignored him.

"You don't like talking about it?" she asked.

"No" he replied.

"Why?" she pushed on.

He sighed.

"I find people have preconceptions. Case in point" she gestured towards her. "And convincing as my prior monologue was, I don't feel like it's my job to make people see this war is right" he said.

"But you think this specific war is right?" she asked, her eyes squinting.

"It's my job. It doesn't matter if it's right" he replied.

"That's sort of sad" she replied.

He said nothing, watching her take another bite from her food.

"What are you doing now? At the Pentagon?" she asked, feeling the need to ask questions he would be more likely to answer.

"I'm an advisor" he replied matter of factly.

"Do you enjoy that? How is that?" she asked, trying to stir the conversation from the route he obviously didn't feel comfortable with.

"It's frustrating most of the time... I find I have to do a lot of moralizing and explaining and placating and then even more correcting and repairing. As you can imagine it's not my favorite thing in the world. But it's ... something to do" he said.

"I bet it's important too" she said.

"Yeah... I guess writing obituaries is important, but if you would be forced back from the field, you would have a hard time accepting that" he replied.

She regarded him for a second as he continued eating.

"Let's talk about you instead" he said, studying her intently.

She felt uneasy, the spotlight suddenly on her and she wrecked her mind trying to come up with ways to ward off possible inquiries.

"What are you working on now?" he asked.

She sighed, her guard relaxing. Her job seemed to be the safest topic she could think of.

"Finishing up a story about the traditional gypsy weddings in remote Transylvania" she shrugged.

He looked at her with a chuckle.

"Did you just get back from there?" he asked.

"Yeah, was there for a week. Stayed with this family. The fifteen year old daughter was getting married to an 18 year old guy" she explained.

"Was that arranged?" he asked.

"Partly. They knew each other. They grew up in the same village. Their family decided on it when they were little kids, so they always knew this would happen" she explained.

"That's strange" he said.

"I don't know. She seemed real smitten with him" she chuckled. "Maybe the one you are meant to be with, it's a lot more than just attraction and chemistry and that stuff."

"What is it then?" he asked, his face amused as he watched her.

"I don't know, fate I guess. But not the fate people usually talk about, like chance meetings and miracles. Fate can be everyone just assuming you will be together, everyone seeing how right it would be and you sort of just growing into that idea" she said, realizing she was rambling.

"Hmm" he reacted with an amused sound.

"You don't think that's possible" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I think it's possible in that culture. Could you imagine that in your life though?" he asked, a small smile on his face.

"No, I guess not" she shrugged.

"What happened to that boy of yours?" he asked suddenly.

"That boy of mine?" she chuckled, incredulous.

"Yeah. Your arranged gypsy marriage of a boy" he elaborated.

"You mean Dean. He wasn't my fate" she smiled, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm sure that if that town of yours had its way it would have been" he pointed out.

"Another lifetime" she smiled her own private smile.

"Yeah" he agreed studying her face.

"Do you think your life could have been different?" she asked.

"Different?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah, like if you weren't stirred into that direction as a child, pulled that stupid stunt, didn't get sent away to military school?" she explained her theory.

"Yeah, who knows?" he chuckled.

She stared at him, cold creeping into her bones.

"That's a scary thought" she whispered.

He looked at her.

"I guess, it was fate" he smirked.

It didn't convince her.

"Are you happy?" she asked, somehow desperate for the answer.

They were still sitting by the table, the temperature dropping as dusk settled around them, the twinkly lights of the food truck casting a glow on the side of his face.

He didn't reply, staying silent for a long moment.

"Like arranged marriage happy? Not knowing better happy? What is that? Happiness? Are you happy?" he asked as he leaned forward, once again resting his arms on the table between them.

She wondered about his questions as she unconsciously leaned forward as well, their faces only a short distance away.

"Or are you rational enough to admit that the best you can be is content?" he chuckled.

She furrowed her brows, studying the remnants of her hotdog.

"I don't know if I am the happy kind, Rory," he said, his finger absentmindedly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "but I am content."


	3. Love song that he made

Author's note: Thank you for your kind reviews, I really appreciate them.

Just a warning, it is about to get M in here, so proceed at your own risk. 

* * *

They had been walking for hours, she realized, as she shivered in the cool spring evening.

"Are you cold?" he asked her, his tone showing worry.

"Yeah, I guess" she shrugged "aren't you?"

He shook his head as he watched her.

She stepped closer to him.

"That's because you're always buttoned up" her fingers instinctively went to his top button at his neck, as if to undo it, but he caught her hand with his, stopping her.

She felt herself gasp at the sudden motion, having been taken off guard and she swayed slightly as she tried to compensate.

He caught her, his hand snaking behind to her waist, steadying her on her feet.

She felt her heartbeat speed up and her breath falter as the warmth of his fingers radiated through the flimsy material of her shirt.

Their eyes bore into each other and she noted the intense emotion in his.

"Do you want to go home with me yet?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper as she alluded to his words from before.

"I've been wanting to go home with you since you turned the corner of your street this afternoon" he replied.

"Boy, that was a waste of a good hotdog then" she inhaled.

He chuckled and she realized it had been the first time the whole evening he seemed lighthearted.

"Let's go" she said, turning towards her street and pulling him along by the hand.

He followed her, without a word, his fingers clasping hers tightly.

She felt her heart race the whole time as they made the four block journey back to her building.

She felt a strange kind of arousal build within her as she glanced back every now and then to always find his eyes intent on hers. It made the waves of want within the pit of her stomach surge and by the time they turned her corner, her whole body was pulsing with an intense need, something she couldn't remember feeling for a long time.

She walked up her steps, fishing out her keys from her pocket. She opened the door and walked up the couple of steps to her apartment. She opened the door quickly, walking in first, then turning as she held out the door for him.

"It's a nice place" he said, glancing around, his voice unsure.

"Yeah" she replied, closing the door behind him.

They were alone and the silence enveloped them as they stood at arm's length from each other in the darkness of her living room, staring for long seconds.

"This is very weird" she burst out.

"Okay" he said. "Do you want me to..." he asked, hesitantly gesturing toward the door.

"No, I want it to be not weird" she groaned.

"I am out of practice" he offered, followed by a deep sigh. "I don't know if I was ever in practice" he added.

They stood silently and she wondered if the need she felt just minutes prior was hers and hers alone.

"You have to give me something here" she whispered to him.

"I thought a lot about you" he said, after a beat, his voice calm, deep.

She breathed in, the air rushing into her lungs.

"Debating" she offered, remembering his words from before.

He laughed.

"Yeah, that too" he said, stepping closer. "But... thinking too" he went on, his voice a notch deeper.

The air seemed to crackle around them, but he made no move to touch her.

"Thinking...?" she questioned, looking for a verification. "Like. Whacking off?" she asked trying to break the incredible tension, her voice shrill in the apartment.

He sighed with a smirk, not entirely as shocked as she would have expected him to be. She wondered if anything elicited clear emotions from him.

"Yeah" he said slowly, looking into her eyes.

She choked on her breath, images conjuring in her mind, her skin flushing as the blood rushed in a steady rhythm inside her ear.

"I haven't done that in a while" he murmured, almost as though only to himself and she looked at him confused.

"Whack off?" she asked.

"Fantasize" he corrected her.

"Okay" she said, the word coming out as a question. "But whacking off you did do…?" she started to ask, the anxiety inside her tumbling out of her mouth in a form of a question.

"Are you nervous, Rory?" he asked, his tone calm.

"Very" she replied, not able to censor her answer.

"Stop saying _whacking off_ " he sighed.

She nodded.

"I was in the Middle-East on missions. You don't just whack off..." he went on, his fingers tentatively reaching out to her arms.

"Okay" she frowned.

He pulled her close to him, his face next to hers, his breath warm on her ears.

She waited as he remained motionless.

"Are you debating now?" she asked, holding her breath as she waited for his next move.

"Fucking stop talking woman" he murmured.

She felt him breathing her scent in and it made her shiver, her every nerve ending hyperreactive. He was still not touching her.

She moved her face slowly towards him, closing her eyes as she waited.

She felt his face millimeters away from hers as he moved to face her.

Then she felt it, light at first, his lips gently brushing against hers, the feeling surreal with the utter lack of pressure.

She sighed, opening her mouth as she mirrored his tentative movements.

The feeling became slightly more palpable, his lips moving against her with more definite presence and she finally felt him pull her closer, kissing her in earnest.

She sighed into his mouth, surrendering to him as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

His kiss was needy. Persistent. His hands going around her waist strong and determined.

She felt his arms slip further down and suddenly she was lifted, without much effort from him, it seemed, off the ground.

Her legs went around his waist instinctively and she felt him back her towards the door to her bedroom. She let him carry her and it seemed to cost him no effort at all. She felt her back hit the wall next to her bed and his pelvis pushed up against hers.

A moan broke from her lips as she felt him hard against her.

The sound seemed to jolt him and he broke off the kiss, staring into her eyes as he tried to slow his breathing.

Long seconds passed and she wondered if he was debating again.

"I want you" she whispered, wanting to tilt the debate in her favor.

He let out a breath he was holding and moved to kiss her again. His kiss was more restrained now and he slowly set her back down on the ground, finally breaking away with his breathing more calm.

She looked at him questioning.

"I..." he faltered "I need to take this slower."

"Why?" she asked, her voice sounding petulant to her own ears as her whole body vibrated still from the effects of his body against hers.

"I haven't done this in... more than a year" he furrowed his brow.

She froze.

"Oh" she let out a breath furrowing her eyebrows in confusion "It's okay... if it doesn't last..." she offered uncertain.

"Shut up, Rory" he sighed "I am not worried about not lasting."

"Oh" she said again, not understanding "What are you worried about?"

He looked at her, his eyes heavy with lust.

"I want you so bad it takes everything in me not to slam you against that wall right now and fuck you raw" he whispered quietly.

"Oh" she breathed, a shot of arousal jolting through her.

She felt the air crackle between them, his eyes shining predatory in the dark of her room.

She took a steadying breath and slowly slipped off the straps of her top exposing her chest.

His eyes didn't leave hers, but she felt him tense even more.

"You want to talk through it?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she felt her mouth dry.

"Not really, no" he said.

She nodded, letting the loose top fall to the floor. She unbuttoned her fly, her fingers feeling clumsy.

"What would you like then?" she asked, gently rolling her jeans off her hips.

He breathed even, measured breaths and swallowed, his eyes faltering slightly as she bent down to push the jeans to the floor.

"Watching you is nice" he said, his voice so deep it was almost a growl.

"Okay" she said, stepping out of the jeans.

She felt a faint draft on her skin, goosebumps forming as she stood almost naked in front of him.

She pushed her panties, the last piece of clothing off her body with a quick breath and she moved slowly to the bed, feeling him turn to keep her in his sight.

She crawled up the bed, laying down on her back.

She closed her eyes for a second, registering the fluttering of her skin as she finally felt his eyes roam her body.

"Come here" she said, opening her eyes to look at him.

His eyes turned darker at her words and she saw him tremble slightly.

He moved slowly, still dressed in a shirt and pants, shoes on, sitting down on the edge off the bed.

"Take off the clothes" she instructed.

He waited for a moment as if thinking, then moved to lay down next to her on his side, his arm supporting his head.

He made no move to obey her.

She looked at him questioning and as if to derail her thoughts, his hands reached out to cup her sex.

She gasped, his fingers still cold from having been outside.

She felt him still, until her breathing evened out, his fingers warming slightly. Then he moved, slowly and deliberately, his fingers slipping under her lips.

She heard herself moan as he stroked her slowly.

"I thought you had a hard time restraining yourself" she whispered, not trusting her voice to manage anymore.

A finger found her clit, circling it slowly.

"I do" he replied, his voice hoarse.

She suppressed a moan, her back arching slightly as her body became flushed.

She opened her mouth to say something else but the increased pressure of his fingers made it impossible for her to keep her train of thought.

She moaned out again, opening her legs to give him more access. She felt him slip two fingers into her, slowly and surely and she felt as he moved closer, his nose skimming the side of her face and his other hand winding into her hair.

His fingers thrust into her, then came back, circling her clit again, now slick with her.

"Jesus" she hissed.

His finger sped up, the pressure building up inside of her. She felt her heartbeat speed up, her breathing turn to shallow, fast pants, her back arching off the bed.

She recognized the feeling building up, extremely fast, taking her by surprise. Her body tensed, her muscles going rigid as she rode out her orgasm.

Her ears rang and her skin hummed as she tried to slow her breathing, aware of his fingers resting on her sex.

She opened her eyes, his head resting against the side of hers, his breathing controlled and strained at the same time.

She sighed, enjoying the quiet hum of her body. Her hand stretched blindly, reaching out to feel around in the drawer of her nightstand, coming back to hand him the packet.

He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what was coming.

He moved suddenly, sitting up and moving to kneel between her legs.

She watched through her haze as he looked down on her, feeling mildly exposed.

"Are you going to take those clothes off finally?" she asked, smiling a languid smile.

His face was solemn.

"Do you mind if I don't?" he asked, the silence ringing in the room.

She furrowed her eyes, not understanding. Her skin rose in goosebumps and she wasn't sure it was because of the chill of the room against her overheated skin.

She watched mesmerized as his hands went to his belt buckle, undoing his pants and pushing it down slightly, enough to free his erection. His right hand moved slowly to pump his already rock hard cock once, before he sheeted himself in the condom.

She felt strange, her orgasm still clouding her brain as the sight in front of her aroused her again.

He slipped his hands under her, raising her slightly and pulling her closer. His movements were calm, no trace of hesitation even as she felt the now burning heat of his hands.

He guided himself to her and entered her, without warning or question, his erection slipping into her warm wetness easily.

She moaned out loud, her eyes closing as her hands grasped his arms instinctively. He felt massive inside her center, still tight from her orgasm. Her legs went around his waist, holding on to him as he pulled out slowly, the strength of his hands supporting her body. He pulled her back into him, creating a deep thrust and a wave of instant pleasure making her moan out again, unable to open her eyes.

She heard no sound from him and she forced her eyes open to look at him.

She gasped as she saw him, his eyes fixed on her face, dark and full of lust, his face strained and his jaws flexed as he thrust into her again, the sensation of him filling her fully lighting every one of her nerve endings on fire.

"Oh god" she cried out and she felt him tremble at the sound.

He stilled inside her and she looked at him, panting.

"Please don't stop" she whispered and watched as he took a shaky breath, his resolve failing as he cursed, ramming into her with incredible strength.

She moaned out unabashed, as she felt him thrust into her again and again, his restrain gone, the feeling making her crazy.

He slammed into her, grunting with each thrust and she felt herself fall off the edge again, her orgasm once again sneaking up on her and hitting her full force.

She heard her own screams and it seemed to snap something in him, because she heard him growl, his whole body vibrating with the sound as he slammed into her with a feverish pace.

"Fuck" he strained out, slamming into her and she felt him buck as he released into her with a restrained groan.

She watched through a haze as he came violently above her, collapsing onto her with his chest heaving.

Her ears rang and she had to close her eyes to keep her head from surrendering to the dizziness.

It was long minutes until she felt her breathing calm and her wildly beating heart slow to a normal rate.

He rolled off of her, his hand sliding down her body as if he were checking for damage.

She opened her eyes, a smile playing on her lips.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Yes" she replied, suppressing the urge to let out a chuckle.

He looked flushed, his eyes still glazed over and she glanced down at his body, ridiculously still fully dressed.

"You like to have sex all dressed up?" she murmured.

He brushed hair away from her face, not sentimentally, just practically, she thought, his face becoming a shade of troubled.

She furrowed her eyebrows in question.

"Yeah... I..." he sighed, as if not knowing exactly what to say.

"What?" she asked.

"I have scars" he said and the words echoed inside of her as if she were a huge hollow hall.

She felt her heart race for some reason.

"I don't get to see them?" she asked, her voice so small she wasn't sure he heard him.

He laughed, making her realize he did.

"Next time?" he said with a laid back smile.

* * *

She felt him tug at her arm gently and she opened her eyes, still heavy with sleep, looking around trying to orient herself.

She was in her room, the air still heavy with the smell of sex and she could tell it was barely dawn, the window only shining with a bluish hue.

"I'm sorry to wake you" he whispered, his eyes strikingly awake as his face was in level with hers, as he was squatting by her bed.

"I need to go, but I wanted to..." he trailed off, his fingers brushing a stray lock from her face.

"What time is it?" she asked looking around, trying to gain purchase.

She saw the red glowing numbers of her alarm clock showing 5:12.

"Jesus," she groaned, "what time do you weirdos start at the Pentagon?"

He chuckled and she was drawn in by the sound.

He was studying her face when she looked at him and she felt self conscious immediately, pulling the sheet up to cover part of her face.

"What?" she asked.

"You are gorgeous" he said matter of factly, pulling the sheet from her face.

She felt her face flush and she wondered how he could elicit that from her so easily.

"I..." he trailed off looking unsure and she wondered if he felt his face flush too.

"I'd like to... see you again," he murmured, "if that's okay."

She tried to hold back the smile breaking from within her at the absurdity of his words.

"Yeah, I think that could be okay" she replied.

He stood up from beside her bed and turned to walk out of the room.

"Maybe I can see you too next time" she added and he froze with his hand on the door frame. He turned to look back at her and his face was a mix of amusement and something that made her shiver.

"Okay" he replied before leaving.

She heard the front door open and close carefully and she stretched her limbs as the stupid smile crept back onto her face.


	4. Steps out of the shade

Author's note: Cheers to everyone who left a review. It's so nice to hear some of you have been reading my stuff for years. I really am so excited to read what you all think, so leave me a note.

* * *

She heard a knock on the door and she looked up, disoriented. She glanced at the clock, noting it was late and she still had to finish packing before her flight early next morning.

She went to the door, pulling the kimono she wore as a robe, tighter around herself.

She opened the door to see him lean against the frame. The scent of pad thai caressed her senses and she glanced at the bag of food in his hand.

"Hey stranger" she greeted him, not opening the door wider.

A smirk flashed on his face as though he understood the challenge she was posing.

"I realize I've been MIA. So I brought gifts to placate you" he lifted the bag, and the incredible smell made her stomach growl.

She sighed, opening the door wider.

"You're lucky I skipped dinner" she said, trying to keep her voice unaffected.

It's been a week since he'd left her apartment, early in the morning, and there has been no calls, no messages, no attempt at contact.

She was surprised at how much that fact frustrated her. She wondered what it meant, wondered if his internal debate was more easily decided now that he'd had her. Then she wondered why she was thinking so much about the situation, since she usually preferred her interactions as scarce as possible. That seemed to be contradicted by the frustration she was currently feeling seeing him show up at her door as if they'd agreed on it previously.

A couple of days ago she finally got fed up with her mind wandering to him so frequently and concentrated instead on arranging the trip to Russia that she'd been planing for a while.

"I'm sorry it's been so long" he offered placing the bag of food on her counter.

She busied herself with taking out plates.

"I'm sure you were preoccupied" she shrugged, trying to fish out napkins from one of the cabinets.

She gasped as she felt his body envelop hers.

"I was" he murmured into her ear and she tensed, the intimacy feeling strange but welcome at the same time.

"I guess advising leaves little time left for communication" she joked, and she wondered why she was still obsessed with his lack of contact.

"I did call" he murmured, his tone quiet, calm.

She furrowed her brows turning in his arm and leaning back against the cabinet trying her best to put distance between them.

"You didn't pick up" he clarified.

She remembered having a couple of calls from blocked numbers.

"From a blocked number?" she questioned.

He sighed, wiping his eyes and she noticed for the first time how tired he looked. It made her feel silly and she consciously relaxed her body, trying to understand why they were even having this conversation.

"Pentagon numbers are blocked, yes" he offered and she suddenly had a flash of recognition remembering the news and the buzz the town's been under for the last couple of days.

"Were you advising on the air strikes?" she asked, realization slowly dawning on her.

"Let's eat" he said, taking the napkin from her hands and turning to unpack the bag of food.

"Where you in there all week long?" she asked, her reporter self not managing to leave it alone.

He sat down across from her on the bar stool on the other side of the counter.

"What do you want? Pad thai or pork curry?" he asked ignoring her question.

"Pad thai" she replied, sitting down across from him.

He scooped the food out onto her plate and took the other box to get his own.

She studied his movements. She couldn't tell if he was annoyed or indifferent or just tired and she felt strange, his late night visit feeling too intimate and not intimate enough at the same time. Her questions sounded like hurt accusations to her own ear. She didn't understand where it was coming from.

"Eat" he told her, not looking up as he took a fork and started to eat.

She sighed and started eating herself.

They ate in silence, and she sneaked looks of him only briefly, each time finding his intent gaze on her.

He ate fast and he was finished before even half of her food was gone. She felt full and she pushed her remaining food towards him. He took it without question and finished it off as she poured him water into a glass.

"So this is where we are now? You show up when army schedule permits you to for a booty call?" she asked, her question cutting in the silence.

He froze, looking up at her with a serious expression and she felt her ears warm.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, his voice unaffected.

She scoffed and he took a long swig from his water.

"I'd like there to be a little more communication" she retorted.

"I'm sorry, I'll leave a voicemail next time. I don't like them..."

"I'm not talking about the phone calls, Tristan" she cut him off, her annoyance back with a vengeance.

"If you're going to show up here and expect me to invite you into my bed..."

"I don't expect you to do anything" this time he was the one cutting her off. His voice was stark, a hint of anger inside.

"I need you to acknowledge my questions" she went on, standing her ground.

There was a beat of silence as the two stared at each other in the quiet kitchen.

"Okay" he said, with a sigh, leaning back and crossing his arms.

She felt reassured but insecure at the same time, and she took a deep breath.

"Is this what you do at the Pentagon?" she asked.

"I'm an advisor" he said simply.

"In military operations?" she asked.

"Yes" he replied.

"How long have you been doing this?" she went on, feeling confident.

"Six months" he replied without missing a beat "since a little after I came back"

"And you volunteered to do this while on medical leave?" she asked.

"I volunteered to do this until they let me go back to work full time" he corrected her.

"What were you actually doing this past week?" she asked.

He remained silent, his gaze intent on her.

"Are you in a mission control room calling out orders?"

"This is classified, Rory" he said, his voice sounding tired.

"Right. So is your injury, right?" she asked pointedly.

He dropped eyecontact and pushed the plate he finished further away to be able to lean on the counter.

He made no effort to protest and she turned around annoyed walking into her bedroom. She sat on the bed, going through the clothes she had thrown out for packing.

She heard him approach and lean against the doorframe of the bedroom.

"Do you want me to leave, Rory?" he repeated his question from before, his tone irritated.

"Do you want to leave, Tristan?" she countered, her tone matching his.

"I don't. God knows why not" he replied.

They stared at each other as if they were on two sides of a precipice.

"I don't know how to do this" he said, his voice calm again, almost pleading "I know it would be easier to focus on what I need to focus on but... I'm drawn to you."

She swallowed, her throat feeling dry as she listened to his confession.

"I don't know how to please you. I can't promise... I can't promise anything. And I know that's not fair. So..." he trailed off looking around slowly and taking a step towards her.

"Ask me your questions. I'll do my best" he said quietly, his fingers reaching the top button of his shirt.

She watched with her heart beating wildly in her chest as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off.

She gasped seeing him. His torso was covered with a large healed wound, the skin pink and uneven across his chest. There were other scars too, more than she could count. Her eyes darted from one to another and they landed on the torn tattoo on his left arm. She concentrated making out the original shape, a sword perpendicularly in front of a red rectangle, but the bottom part of the art was destroyed, a light pink patch of scar tissue obstructing it.

Despite the scars, he looked magnificent, the light from her nightstand illuminating the sculpted form of his muscles.

His shoulders were wide, his arms strong and his well defined pectorals moved slowly as he breathed.

Her eyes traveled down to his stomach, with a razor sharp six pack and further down, the v shape disappearing into the slacks he was wearing. She watched him and felt a strange mix of awe, fear and arousal, her skin heating up and her breathing becoming shallow.

She stood up from the bed, taking measured steps towards him.

He stood in her studying gaze patiently unmoving.

The room was dark, only lit by the single lamp from her nightstand and the light cast sharp shadows on the uneven skin where the scars covered him.

She came to stand in front of him, her fingers tentatively reaching out to touch him. From closer she could see several more scars, smaller but more defined than the injuries initially catching her eye.

She felt his breathing hitch as her finger touched his skin and his mouth opened slightly, his jaw tensing.

She looked up at him as if asking for permission and she saw his eyes swirl with restrained emotion.

'What's this?" she asked, her fingers brushing over a short scar on the side of his torso that she only noticed from close.

"Chest drain" he replied, his voice deep with what sounded like arousal and she shivered.

She glanced up to his face seeing his eyes trailed on her, his intent gaze sending chills down her spine.

"And this?" she asked, as her fingers moved to his neck to skim over the white dots that were usually covered by his shirts' collars.

"Central line. Several" he replied.

Her eyes flashed up to his throat, feeling uneasy, her eyes trained on the thin scar right across the center of his neck.

"Tracheostomy" he said, without being asked.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, taking a deep breath.

Her hand trailed across his chest and down to his abdomen tracing the largest scar and she didn't need to ask what it was. The edges were uneven here, the scar tissue extensive and she knew this wasn't done by doctors. It was burn injury, extensive and horrifying. Her fingers followed its course and she felt the muscles beneath his skin tense under her touch.

"What else?" she asked, her voice coming out as if it were floating as she sat down on the bed, leaving room for him.

He studied her breathing controlled, as if he were contemplating the next step. He swallowed hard and his face showed pain for a split second only.

He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down together with his underwear down to his knees as he came to kneel on the bed next to her.

He let her study him, no trace of shame present on his face. His legs were beautiful, lean and muscular.

Her eyes flashed to his erection as he stood her searching gaze and felt a surge of arousal inside of her.

"This" he said as he traced a fine circular scar on the top of his leg, "is where they had one canule and this" he pointed to a similar one on his other leg "the other."

"For what?" she asked, her voice trembling. She couldn't tell if it was because of the intense need she felt or fear.

"It's..uh... extra corporeal oxygenation" he said, his forehead creasing.

"My lungs didn't work" he clarified.

She shook her head, not understanding.

"You didn't just get shot" she said.

"No" he said, his hands slowly going to her legs and pulling her down towards him.

His movements were slow and measured but she still gasped at the motion, falling back down onto the bed without resistance.

Her brain was cloudy, his words trying to make sense while the sight of him elicited feelings of such intense lust she had to close her eyes to try to concentrate.

He crawled over her, between her legs, pushing her robe apart.

He leaned forward, his hand reaching into her nightstand to find a condom, his fingers moving quickly to undo the package. She closed her eyes, waiting as he finished his task without a sound.

She opened her eyes seeing his eyes clouded over with lust. She felt his hand cup her sex and then his fingers moved her panties to the side, probing her entrance. She gasped and felt a wave of pleasure wash over her, her mind trying to regain control of her thoughts.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to calm her breathing and failing at it.

His eyes met hers as he lowered himself onto her.

There was a moment of silence before she felt him enter her.

"We crashed" he said, pushing into her.

* * *

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. She blinked several times, still feeling lightheaded. Her ears were adjusting too and she heard the sounds from the bathroom.

She realized that he slipped out from bed while she must have dozed off, her body succumbing to the exhilarated exhaustion from the intense effort.

She heard the bathroom door open and then close, his steps approaching the bed.

He was slow and quiet as he climbed on to the bed, as if he were extra careful not to touch or disturb her.

She turned slightly, letting him know she was awake.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She smiled, realizing this was his standard question post sex.

"I'm not prone to breaking" she informed him.

"Sorry" he said, nestling in next to her.

"I just... I don't know if I'm too rough..." he trailed off, his eyes cautiously scanning her body.

She felt her breath falter thinking about what he was referring to, his body a tightly flexed column of muscle chasing her and his own release relentlessly.

"You are fine. I like it rough" she replied, calming her heart.

His gaze met hers and he moved to kiss her, his hand going to the back of her neck. His moves were gentle, a stark contrast to how he'd touched her before.

"You drive me insane" he said sighing.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone playful.

"I mean...It's hard to control myself when I'm with you like that. You make me unravel" he whispered, the admission strikingly honest compared to his usual cropped responses.

She thought back to his movements, the way he bent and twisted her body, his motions powerful, but somehow still restrained. It made her think about the strength of his body, of what he could do with it. The thought made her shiver.

She took a breath rearranging her thoughts, her fingers tracing the scar on his torso.

"Are you going to tell me about it?" she asked, her voice shrill in the quiet of the dark room as she drew a delicate path against the rough surface of the scar.

He sighed.

There was a silence, long and burdened, as he stared at the ceiling.

She wondered what his debate sounded like.

"I can't really talk about it..." he finally said, his voice controlled, careful.

"If it's too much to..."

"I am not allowed" he broke her off.

"Oh" she said.

"We were working a night mission in Syria and it went bad. We crashed. My crew didn't survive. I did somehow."

His voice was calm. His words simple, straight forward and she wondered if it took him a great deal of effort to make it be like that or whether it was completely natural.

"I had several broken bones and my chest was compressed. This is burn injury" his hand moved hers along the largest scar, confirming what she already figured.

"I also inhaled smoke and lost a lot of blood" he continued, his voice getting more quiet.

He paused and she realized she was holding her breath as she listened to him.

"I got rescued by a field crew, was attended to at the base by the medical team. They airlifted me out to Germany that same night. And I was in Heidelberg at the Hospital for about 4 months"

The last two words echoed in her brain. Four months.

"I don't remember any of what happened after the crash. I don't remember the emergency surgery and being airlifted. My first memory is from the ICU in Germany. But that was three weeks after the crash" he spoke slowly, his words careful.

"I had respiratory failure because of the trauma, the inhalation, the transfusions. My lungs weren't working for a long time. I had some infections after and that prolonged the ICU stay" he went on, his voice a low murmur and she had to strain to catch every word, the expressions foreign to her ears.

"I was there for almost six weeks before they could discharge me to the rehabilitation ward and I was there for another two months" he went on. "And then I came back to the US" he said, finishing his thoughts.

She felt the air stuck in her chest, her heart beating wildly.

"You almost died" she said, her voice just a hoarse whisper.

His gaze landed on hers as he turned slightly to face her.

"I didn't" he replied, his words measured.

"How can you want to go back after that?" she asked bewildered, blinking back tears as she thought of him and the suffering he must have gone through to crawl back to where he was now.

"I didn't die. I am fine" he said, his tone placating.

"You must not be if they don't let you back" she reasoned.

"I have been doing physiotherapy and training for 7 months. I'm almost back to my stats from before. I feel fine" he said a hint of frustration in his voice.

She looked at him bewildered, not daring to say anything.

"I feel like I have all this energy and it's making me explode" he went on and it once again made her think about the way he made love, his body a tightly wound coil of energy.

"I think they are worried about post traumatic stress. But I checked out. I am going to be reevaluated." He sighed, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Don't you think they might be right? For not wanting you back there?" She asked carefully.

He looked at her again, his hand slowly caressing the exposed skin of her arm. It made her shiver and she concentrated on waiting for his answer.

"I am good at what I do, Rory. They know that. They can't afford to lose that. They are just worried I'll fly a Black Hawk into my own base if I go bezerk. They wanna make sure I don't" he shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood, she thought.

"How do you know you won't?" she asked, her voice small.

"I won't" he replied simply.

"Why did they deem you unfit? Psychologically?" she asked thinking back to his words.

He watched her, a slight smirk on his face. It reminded her of the feeling when she finally found an opening in an interview.

"My scores were borderline for PTSD" he admitted.

"So you do have PTSD" she rephrased.

"My scores were borderline for PTSD before I ever went on a fucking tour, Rory" he sighed, his eyes concentrating on his fingers as they slowly pulled the sheet wrapped around her body.

She figured the conversation was over, because she felt him move down, his mouth trailing kisses on the newly exposed skin as his fingers continued to free her from the sheet.

As she closed her eyes, giving into his ministrations, she thought about his last words.

She read about that somewhere. The best soldiers are the ones who are bordering on insane anyway. People with attachment issues. People with problems with authority. They make the best soldiers.

Her thoughts came to a halt as she felt the wet heat of his tongue circle her clit.


	5. Gimme a heart attack

Author's note: Thank you so much for the continuous support, I love to read your reviews!

* * *

She heard the knock on the door, slow and measured, but determined and she knew in an instance it was him.

She opened her door, seeing him wide awake despite the hour.

"How do you always get in through the front door? Was it open?" she mused quietly as he slipped passed her into her apartment.

"Uh, yeah" he said and she furrowed her brows, knowing that would be highly unlikely.

She watched as he paced her room, moving without effort despite the darkness. She had only turned on the bedroom light, so the rest of her apartment was dark. He looked wound up, his whole body vibrating with a curious anxiety.

"Is everything okay?" she said, glancing at the clock on the oven. It was 1 am. She hadn't been asleep, reading in her bed, but she was not exactly awake either.

She pulled her robe tighter around her, having grabbed it hastily when she got up hearing him knock.

She watched him study her half packed suitcase, his face slowly becoming solemn.

"Are you leaving?" he asked and she cleared her throat.

"Yeah, I've been pushing it back, but I gotta leave tomorrow."

She thought back to her reasoning to push the trip back. The last time he showed up to her apartment, finally, after a week, they hadn't left the place for two days straight. She recalled those two days now, as if they passed in a haze. He was open, engaging, answering all her questions when he didn't find ways to distract her from coming up with new ones.

She felt overwhelmed by all she found out about him and she felt strangely close to him and insecure at the same time. She kept pushing the trip back, but then he suddenly announced he had to leave and she hadn't heard from him for three days after that. It was like a fog had been lifted from her head. She was not that girl anymore: molding her schedule to other people, waiting for calls, adjusting plans. And even if she were, it would be hard to plan with a super secret military whatever he was, that she couldn't even properly reach. So she picked her phone up and finalized her trip.

Now when she looked at him, restlessly pacing her apartment, she figured he had a good reason to be as erratic as he was with communication, and really, who was she to judge a person for that.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice timid.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was so late" he said, looking out of place suddenly.

"You're fine, I was up reading" she shrugged.

"When do you leave?" he asked, studying her face.

"Tomorrow" she replied.

"I should let you rest" he said, his voice almost insecure.

"I'll get some sleep on the plane. It's good to see you" she said, stepping closer to him.

He looked at her, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, before he stepped closer to her, diminishing the space between them. His arms went up her sides, casting goosebumps on her skin.

"Hey" he whispered, his voice intimate.

"Hey" she smiled, stepping up against him as close as she could.

His hand slipped up to her neck and hair, pulling her in for a kiss that made her dizzy.

She felt her heart beat wildly in her chest as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

"I missed you" he said and her breath faltered, seeing him so at ease when he said that.

"It's been a god damn crazy week" he added before he kissed her again.

"There has been a lot of talk about ground operations" she said pointedly, but he broke her off with another kiss.

"Has there now?" he asked with fake surprise, in between kisses.

"You seem tense" she added.

"Do I now?" he retorted, his tone unchanged, an amused expression on his face.

She nodded as she let him pull her down on her couch.

"You any good at easing tension?" he asked, his mouth dipping down to suck gently on the skin on her neck.

She sighed, settling in his lap as he pulled her close, his body a warm and hard sensation against hers. She could feel him tense under her, his whole body anxious, his breathing slightly labored, as if he'd been running to get here.

"Some say talking about issues at work can release unwanted tension" she said, her tone playful.

She felt the rumble of laughter against her chest, as his hands slid down to settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

She gasped, the sensation of the crotch of his jeans sliding against the thin material of her panties making her moan.

"Others say there's more effective ways to do that" he retorted.

"Like what?" she asked, slightly breathless.

"Cardio. High intensity training. Football" he replied smugly.

"Hmm. Yeah I hear high contact sports are very effective" she said, playing along.

"You smell incredible" he murmured into her neck.

"Tristan?" she asked, trying to get his attention or hold on to her bearings.

"Yeah" he said, pulling back to look at her.

"Not that I'm complaining, but is this all you came for?" she asked and he stalled, his face becoming serious.

" _This_ meaning?" he asked, his voice careful.

"Sex" she said quietly.

He sighed, his head falling back against the couch.

"No, Rory, I'm sorry" he closed his eyes, his hand going to rub his eyes.

"I'm not blaming you if you did," she offered quickly "I'm okay with that… but last time talking seemed to help…"

"Why would you be okay with that?" he cut her off and it made her look into his eyes, suddenly veered off course. She saw genuine confusion there and it made her reconsider her reasoning.

"That's not why I came here…" he said slowly, watching her intently.

She waited for him to go on and he looked at her taking a deep breath.

"I had a rough couple of days and when I was done, I just wanted to see you, be near you. I didn't even think about it, but I know how it looks and yeah… once I see you, it's hard not to… touch you. But that's not why…" he trailed off, his face troubled.

She thought it almost endearing, the way he rambled, wanting to explain himself.

"You know, you can trust me. I know how that sounds coming from a reporter, but I would never betray your trust" she whispered.

"Rory," he cut her off, his tone pleading, "I want you to know that I love talking to you but … I don't always know how to explain what's bothering me."

"Okay" she said taking a deep breath. "You were working, right?"

"Yeah" he confirmed, his tone suspicious.

"You were advising on something" she continued.

"Yeah" he replied cautiously, brows furrowing.

"Did it not go according to plan?" she asked, her tone calm as her eyes searched his.

His eyes were pale and sad, suddenly softening with apprehension.

"No" he said, after a couple of seconds.

She nodded, keeping her face neutral.

"Is that your fault?" she asked, her tone still soft, encouraging.

"No… it's no one's fault…but…" he trailed off, his face frustrated.

She waited patiently.

"When I stand there and look at what's happening through a fucking feed. I feel like I am there. I feel like I know what's happening sooner than they… and I know what to do… and I feel like if I was there, it would go differently" he said, his eyes focusing on the wall behind her.

She nodded again, watching his face expressing frustration, fear, anxiety and longing.

"I feel like they have me in this room and have me try to sort out a fucking mess, but I'd be better there… I'd be more useful there" he said, dropping his gaze.

She watched as he sighed, his body becoming a little less tense, the vibrating anxiety slowly dissipating.

"I see why that would get you riled up" she said.

He took another deep breath, releasing the air slowly and she felt his body relax even more, his head resting against the couch as his hands resumed caressing her sides.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, her eyes coy, as she saw a slight smirk appear on his face.

"Since when do you ask permission?" he pointed out and she snorted.

"Most of the losses of the past couple of years… they have been through ground operations, is that right?" she asked, her voice still soft, but serious, focused.

She felt him tense infinitesimally, his hands loosening their hold. She tried again, paraphrasing.

"Drones, the technology today… is incredible… and I'm sure I don't even know the half of it. Why don't they just use that for all the operations?" she asked, with genuine curiosity.

"They…" he stalled for a moment, his face in contemplation, "we do use it for as much as we can. You can't use them for everything" he said, a finger tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear, a habit of his, she noticed.

"Why?" she asked, eyes intent on him.

"Drones can't go unnoticed. Can't go underground. Can't rescue hostages. Can't adapt quickly. Can't collect substantial information. Most of the intel that has moved us forward… it was gathered through raids" he said, his voice a soft murmur.

She nodded.

She thought about what he said, the calm, quiet, solemn way he explained things. It made her shiver, because it felt like he lived and breathed these things. And she was still having trouble grasping how that came so natural to him.

"I shouldn't have come here" he said softly and she realized he'd been studying her face intently.

"Why not? I thought you liked talking to me" she smiled coyly.

"You were asleep. And you're leaving tomorrow. I should let you rest" he explained his reasoning, looking around the room.

"Don't you need your rest?" she asked, keeping him in his place under her.

"I should, yeah" he nodded, looking back at her.

"Why don't you stay?" she asked, her eyes boring into his.

He watched her for a second, his fingers caressing her arm.

"You sure?" he asked, uncertain.

"Yeah" she nodded, climbing off of him and pulling him up from the couch.

* * *

She breathed in the air of the old theater, the smell of mold and wood giving her a sense of nostalgia that she couldn't quite place.

She watched as the rehearsal started back up again, the directions called out in the heavy language that felt harsh and beautiful to her at the same time. The instructions called the stage to life, the lights, the music and the performers all finding their stride. She watched the dancers move with baited breath.

One in particular captured her attention, the elegant and flowing movements of her limbs unlocking some strange ache inside her chest.

She felt herself take a shuddering breath as she watched her turn towards another dancer, her arms stretching out to envelop the other girl, moving with her, shadowing her, protecting her, without ever touching her. The music surged suddenly, all of the dancers, except the one she was focused on, fluttering to the ground as though life had been sucked out of them.

She watched as she moved, broken but still graceful, leaning over the collapsed bodies as the music slowly faded, the lights dimming as she turned her face towards them.

* * *

"Hello" she yelped into the phone, her toe pulsing with searing pain from where he jammed it into the side of the bed.

"You okay?" she heard his calm, deep voice and it made her forget everything.

"Hey, yeah I'm fine" she said, listening "did you get a phone?".

It had been the first time he called from a number that actually appeared on her phone.

"I'm calling from a landline," he said, "this is my home number".

"Wow, how quaint" she chuckled.

"Yeah, it's one of those ones where you have to hold one piece to your ear and another to your mouth."

She giggled, noting the playful tone of his voice. It was new to her, especially after the last time she'd seen him. She thought back to that night as she listened to the silence over the phone.

"I just got back from Moscow" she finally said, plopping down on the bed.

"What were you doing there again?" he asked and he heard the air leave his body as though he had laid back down onto his back. She imagined him on his bed, his arm behind his head.

"Ballerinas. I was interviewing ballerinas" she explained.

"Ballerinas?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's the ballerina capitol of the world. There's so many of them, it's like dozens and dozens of girls bread to be ballerinas. They make them work incredibly hard from a small age and then they bloom and become celebrated dancers before falling from grace when someone younger shows up. These girls lose their careers by the time they're 25 and most of them never recover from the trauma" she said, rambling as she recalled her experiences.

"Sounds sad" she heard him say over the phone.

"You probably think I'm romanticizing" she rolled her eyes, thinking bck to his assessment of her work.

"No. I'm sure you're right. You put a lot of research into these stories" he said.

"Do I? How would you know?" she asked, her eyebrow shooting up with interest.

"I've read some of your work" he admitted, his voice amused.

"Really?" she said, a wide smile spreading across her face.

"I can't tell what my favorite is. When you signed up for a rodeo or when you went undercover as a stripper" he mused.

"I'm sure you were intrigued by the stripping" she pointed out.

"I was intrigued about the pointers you supposedly got from these ladies" he replied without missing a beat.

"You mean the blowjob trick?" she asked.

She heard his breath catch and she smiled silently.

"Yeah, it does sound intriguing" he murmured, his voice a bit deeper.

"You want to volunteer as a test subject?" she asked her tone playful, teasing.

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'd like to see you either way" he said, his tone making her shiver.

"I have a deadline for this, but after that I'm free" she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"When?" he asked, his voice breathy.

It made her swallow, her skin tingling and her head lightheaded.

"Tomorrow night" she replied.

"Okay" he said, hanging the phone up without saying goodbye.

* * *

They were sitting outside on the patio of the Italian place she suggested, even though the night was still chilly. She wrapped herself in the blanket that the waitress offered her and laughed at his last remark.

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked, after she had listened to him explain why she probably had to wait two hours for one of her interview appointments in Moscow.

"It's because of the prefixes. They're prepositions and they completely change the meaning of the word. So if you don't use the proper prefix, they don't know whether you're meeting them or just thinking about it. I'm telling you. That's probably why that mix up happened."

She looked at him incredulous, shaking her head slowly.

"First of all, how do you know Russian?" she asked, staring at him bewildered.

"It comes in handy" he shrugged.

She tilted her head regarding him.

"We haven't been in war with Russia for a while, you mean to tell me Uncle Sam is still weary about them?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Just because we're not at war with them, it doesn't mean there's no conflict" he shrugged.

"I feel like I'm in a scene from Top Gun 2. Did you have flybys when you trained to taunt them?" she asked, her tone sarcastic.

"You know for someone who reported a shitload on this, you confuse your military branches surprisingly often" he pointed out even as he avoided eye contact.

She rolled her eyes and leaned back making space for the food that had arrived.

They looked at the bowls in front of them.

"Tristan, I need to ask you something and it's sort of a deal breaker here" she said tentatively, her face serious. He looked up at her, his face matching hers.

"Go ahead" he nodded.

"Your stance on this is very important, it just doesn't seem like we'd be compatible if we don't agree on this" she went on and he raised an eyebrow sensing her overly dramatic tone.

"Shoot, Mary."

"Gluten," she said dramatically, "which side are you on?"

"I'm gonna give you a visual" he replied, unflinching.

He took his fork, slammed it into his pasta without breaking eye contact, wrapped a big chunk of food around it and stuffed it into his face, moaning.

"Does that clear it up?" he asked, mouth full.

"Yep" she finally laughed, "just making sure."

She watched as he dug into his pasta, chuckling.

"God, I love pasta" he murmured.

"I know" she agreed, her mouth too full to elaborate more.

"I make a mean carbonara, you know" he raised an eyebrow.

"He cooks… unbelievable" she shook her head.

"Well, it's basic self-sustainment, learning to cook pasta" he shrugged lightly.

"Yeah, never quite got the hang of that" she replied, taking another bite.

"Your mom didn't teach you?" she stopped, looking at him. He was focused on his food, but she couldn't help but wonder whether it was a carefully orchestrated opening on his part.

"No, cooking wasn't a priority in the Gilmore house" she replied, keeping her voice steady.

She saw him glance up at her and she quickly focused on her food.

"So... you wouldn't happen to know anything about the operation they briefed the press on about two days ago?" she asked quickly before he could follow up with his inquiry. There was a couple of moments of silence and she looked up, watching his face for a reaction. It was his turn to deflect.

"Hmmm. No, doesn't ring a bell" he said, his eyes focus on his bowl.

"Because they announced that they took out number four on the kill list but there's been a lot of chatter about it maybe not having been as successful as they make it seem" she went on, her food untouched.

"Oh yeah? Where do people chatter about the kill list? The Moscow international airport?" he asked, without looking up from his plate.

"I suppose if I want the real scoop, I'll have to get my ass on a plane and fly to Kabul" she shrugged with a small smile.

He looked up at her, his face serious and his eyes regarding her wearily.

She smiled sweetly and held his gaze. He dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"What do you think is gonna happen here, Rory?" he asked, his voice weary.

She looked at him for a second, contemplating her answer.

His guard went up quickly, anytime she pushed for too much info on his work, she'd realized that. But she also saw that she had an effect on him, that despite his reservations, he was open to her.

"I was hoping for a deepthroating type setup" she replied finally, her tone playful.

She watched, amused, as he squinted lightly, studying her face.

"I'm not sure that phrase refers to what you think it refers to" he murmured softly, shaking his head as a faint smile crossed his lips.

She held his gaze, suddenly feeling brazen.

"Yeah?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

The mood shifted instantly and she saw his whole body tense.

He swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, his eyes shining with a new fever.

"You'll be the death of me" he murmured, motioning to the waiter.

She looked at the approaching waiter and then back at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah, could you wrap our food to go? Something came up" he said to the surprised waiter and she shook her head smirking.

"Something came up?" she asked cynically, but she was already tossing her napkin on the table, ready to leave.

"Quite literally" he replied, his eyes boring into her.

"Okay" she shrugged, enjoying the way his eyes roamed her body.

* * *

He was at her doorstep again and she wondered how long he'd been waiting. He seemed like the patient kind and he showed no sign of relief when their eyes met as she turned the corner.

"We have to come up with a system" she said as she sat down on the steps next to him.

Her eyes skimmed his body and noted that he somehow seemed stronger, bigger, even though it's only been a couple of days since she last saw him.

"A system?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, like send me pigeons informing me of your expected arrival or leave a sock on my door if you're coming by later, so you don't have to sit here for hours" she explained.

"I like sitting here" he chuckled.

"You do?" she asked surprised.

"Yeah. There's an old Italian lady living across from you" he pointed to the opposite side to the brownstone's first story "she likes to have conversations through the window with her friends and she yells at her grandkid who comes by after school to hurry up."

"You speak Italian too?" she asked.

"Just a little, she speaks way too fast for me to understand" he chuckled.

"There is an old guy living two doors down, who puts on a suit every day and walks to the cafe at the end of the street to read the paper" he said, pointing out the café.

"How many times have you actually sat here?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"I might have tried you while you were still in Transylvania. And I wasn't sure what day you were getting back from Moscow" he replied and she couldn't decide if he was serious or not.

His eyes were focused on hers, a calm and apprehensive depth of blue and she felt the air grow heavy between them.

"I don't know if I should be freaked out or aroused" she said, trying to break the tension.

His eyes shifted to focus on her mouth and she felt her heartbeat speed up.

"You can be both" he said leaning in to kiss her.

She felt his arms snake around her and pull her closer, his mouth persistent and she felt a sudden wave of anxious need rouse within her.

She moaned softly as he deepened the kiss pulling her up to lean against him in between his parted legs.

"Mrs. Stelios will think this scandalous" she murmured.

"So you do know her?" he chuckled.

"Of course, she's the street gossip" she shrugged.

"What did you have in mind when you came to see me? Another hotdog tasting?" she asked, drawing his attention back to her.

"I was thinking more along the lines of fucking you against the door of your apartment" he said, his voice unaffected.

She froze as the words registered, lighting up her skin with a light flush.

She squinted to see if it was a bluff. "You talk the talk..."

His only response was a slight raise of his eyebrows before he stood up taking her hand in his. He pulled her up the stairs and waited as she fished out her keys from her pocket. She had to calm her fingers to be able to find the lock and they stepped into the cool air of the building.

She walked up the stairs to her door and unlocked it looking surprised as he brushed passed her. He pulled her in and slammed the door shut, pushing her up against it.

He was kissing her neck and she felt the stubble on his cheeks scrape the sensitive skin there.

His one hand was supporting her while the other was hitching up her skirt and tearing the pantyhose she was wearing.

She gasped, the tearing sound and then the feel of her skin exposed jolting her.

She pushed her back fully against the door, wrapping her legs around his waist to free his hands and he undid his pants quickly taking a condom from his back pocket and putting it on his throbbing cock within seconds.

He probed her and she felt her own wetness drip from her center as he parted her folds.

"Shit" he cursed as he slid into her without resistance.

"God damn it, you feel incredible" he gritted out.

She let her head fall against the door as she gave into the feeling of pleasure.

"I love your cock" she moaned and he froze.

She smiled, amused by the effect her comment made on him and she challenged him raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head lightly and resumed thrusting into her with measured, deep movements.

"I'm gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours, Mary" he murmured, making her shiver.

"I think that moniker is outdated" she moaned, in between thrusts but it was harder to keep up the teasing because she felt her edge approaching.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and gave over to the feeling of pleasure as he pounded into her.

"God, you're so fucking good at this" she moaned, his thrusts speeding to a frenzy as she felt herself clench around him.

She cried out coming apart as he held her up. He followed suit, his cries muffled as he buried his face in her neck.

They slid to the floor and she noted he was supporting her weight carefully.


	6. Underneath the window

Author's note: Thank you for all of you regularly giving me feedback (shout out to Hereforthe - your reviews are crazy supportive and you crack me up). Here's an extra long chapter for you guys. I thought about breaking it into two and giving you a bit of a cliffhanger, but that bit of plot point is going to get me in enough trouble as is, soooooo...

Okay, don't hate me, bye. 

* * *

She found his apartment after trying to retrace her steps from memory, from the first time he had taken her back to his place. That time she'd been distracted by kissing him, as the two of them could hardly keep their hands off each other since dinner. She had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted to have him right away and he had suggested that his place would be closer. They ended up taking a cab back to her place afterwards because she needed to make her flight the next morning.

So now, as she was standing in the row of identical grey houses, she really wasn't sure what apartment building was the right one. She finally settled on the one that seemed the most familiar, even though she couldn't find his name on the buzzers. She waited until someone opened the door and made her way up to what she figured was his place.

She stood in front of the dark brown door, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Sure he had shown up to her place before, uninvited, but her showing up to his felt different. She wasn't sure he'd appreciate it. Or whether he'd even be home, what with his mysterious job. She was starting to second guess herself when she heard movement from inside, prompting her to knock before she could change her mind.

She waited for what seemed like ages before the door opened with a quick swing. She was relieved to see him standing in the doorway but she was instantly caught off guard by the sight.

He was panting, his naked chest dripping with sweat and she didn't know whether to be suspicious or aroused.

His smile told her the later would suffice.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, pulling her into his hall and turning to close the door.

Her eyes landed on his back as he was closing the door. She focused on the tattoos on his back she'd already spent some time deciphering. One covered the upper part of his back, the smooth drawing beautiful over the sculpted muscles. There was a crowd of birds, as if taking flight from somewhere, the individual forms morphing into a script of flowing text reading „Volare Optimos" right below the back of his neck. She researched the phrase, Latin for „To Fly the Best", apparently the motto for the Night Stalkers. The other tattoo, over his right shoulder blade was that of a knight, holding a sword, the picture surrounded by the phrase „De Opresso Liber". She knew this one without searching, Liberate the Oppressed, the motto for the Special Forces.

He turned around to face her and her focus was directed to his shining blue eyes, studying her in surprise. She realized she'd not answered his question.

"Thought I'd let you know I am back from the Netherlands" she shrugged, but she couldn't help the smile spreading on her lips, seeing his excitement.

She felt her own grin intensify and she turned around to hide it, walking into his living room that was also his kitchen. When she turned back, her voice was teasing.

"May I ask what has you all sweaty and panting?" she arched an eyebrow as she looked him up and down.

"I was working out" he informed her, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Doing what?" she asked, looking around and not seeing any equipment.

"Pull ups" he glanced up, his eyes on the bar installed into the ceiling right above the door frame he was standing in.

"Oooh, that's what that is for," she wondered out loud, "I thought it was a kinky sex toy or something."

He glanced up at the bar again, his eyes contemplative for a second, a smirk spreading on his lips.

"Perhaps it can be both" he murmured and she couldn't help but blush.

She turned around again, trying to hide the effect he seemed to have on her, walking slowly around the living room.

She spotted a strange object on the coffee table and she furrowed her brow trying to wrap her mind around it.

"Who has a pager anymore?" she looked up to see his face.

"It's for work" he offered as an explanation.

"Hmm. The Pentagon uses the same system dealers do? Good to know" she chuckled.

He was standing motionless, watching her, but she could see a faint smile on his face.

"So what have you been up to?" she asked, her fingers toying around with the documents on his coffee table.

"Not much. Work. Pull-ups. Etcetera" he said, watching her closely as she eyed the papers on his table curiously.

"My electric bills are fascinating to you?" he asked pointedly.

She looked at him, her face showing disappointment and his amusement.

"What, you thought I'd sneak out classified documents from the Pentagon and leave it lying around for you to find?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

She huffed quietly, continuing her rounds inside the tiny living room.

"What were you up to?" he asked, his hands on his hips as he watched her scan his belongings.

"A story on euthanasia" she replied, her fingers trailing along the books lining his shelves.

"Uplifting" he replied.

"Why do you work out at home?" she asked, suddenly turning to face him. "Don't you have a gym that you go to?"

"I like to sweat my brains out in solitude" he replied as he watched her, his eyes glued to her every move.

"Yeah?" she asked, her eyebrow arching seductively. "That's too bad."

She saw something flash in his eyes, before his head cocked slightly and it made her shiver with anticipation.

"By all means, continue" she gestured vaguely towards the bar as she plopped down into the armchair, her legs dangling over the arm in order to face him.

He chuckled.

"Is that why you came? To watch me work out?" he asked, his voice teasing, low.

"No, but I got lucky it seems. Come on, show me your moves" she replied playfully.

He shook his head smirking, but did as was instructed, grabbing a hold of the bar and pulling himself up effortlessly while his eyes stayed on her. He continued without any sign of strain and she watched mesmerized as his muscles moved in a coordinated effort, his movements smooth and efficient.

"I can't believe you were ever sick" she wondered out loud and he stopped, dropping down to the floor, releasing the breath he was holding.

"Yeah, sometimes I can't believe it either" he murmured.

"Those injuries you described…," she started her question but trailed off, not knowing how to word it, "it's impossible to imagine you did without any lasting injuries."

"Your body really is a miracle. The things it can withstand. The things it will get you through" he trailed off, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance. She leaned forward, giving him her full attention.

"Do you recall what it was like when you regained consciousness?" she asked, not sure she could push.

"I dream about it still" he said, a rare moment of honesty. She held her breath waiting for him to go on.

He walked towards her and she felt goosebumps on her skin as her eyes drifted over his body. He sat down on a chair he pulled close to her armchair, looking down on her from his position, his face leaning in close to hers.

"Your body can be a miracle, but it can turn on you. It can be your doom. Your prison. Mine has served me, saved me, didn't give up on me. So I have to be thankful for that."

She swallowed, the question hovering on her lips.

"The way you walk... it's..." she trailed off as she saw him sigh deeply.

"It's because of this nerve, the peroneus" he replied, his mouth in a strange smirk.

"The peroneus?" she asked, tasting the word.

"Yes, it's the longest, thinnest nerve in the human body" he said, his words slow, almost sensual, while his finger traced an invisible line outside of her lower leg.

"Mine didn't work for a long time, it took months to get it back. It makes your foot drop, that nerve not working properly. So walking was a bitch. It took concentration" he said, looking back up at her.

"Why didn't it work?" she asked, her voice a whisper. His fingers were still touching her leg, her skin warming there.

"None of my nerves did, it was just the last to hold out on me," he chuckled, "critical illness polyneuropathy."

"What is that?" she asked, scrunching her face.

"I always thought that diagnosis sounded beautiful. Beautiful for something that makes you miserable" he mused, his eyes pale and sad.

She concentrated on him, swallowing hard as she waited for him to go on. He sighed and looked around as if searching for a way to describe it to her.

"You know the feeling when you wake up but you're not in charge of your brain yet and your muscles don't seem to respond? Like you're not in control of them?" he asked, his fingers once again caressing the skin of her leg.

She nodded, furrowing her brows.

"It feels like that when you are coming out of an illness like that whole ordeal. You've been laying still for weeks, your muscles are gone and what's left isn't responding" he said, his voice a soft murmur. "But they make you get up, they put you in a chair, because laying in bed is death" he went on, his eyes focused on her legs as he caressed them.

"So they put you in a harness, with all your tubes and wires hanging out and they lift you like a rag doll" he went on, his lips in a sour smile. "And sitting for an hour feels like the most difficult task you've ever had to endure. So they tell you, every day, tomorrow is going to be better" he went on, glancing up to look at her. She listened, her throat feeling constricted.

"And it is, because the next day you sit for two hours, then for three, and then you feel like you're coming back to life, feel like your muscles are slowly waking up and you can get on your feet, with four people hauling you up, but you are on your feet."

He finished his recount, his words a soft murmur, hypnotizing her into holding her breath and staring at him.

"How did you keep on going?" she asked, her voice almost breaking from the emotion.

He held her stare, the pale blue of his eyes changing color under her stare.

"I wasn't dead and there was a way out, so what else was there to do?" he asked, leaning back in the chair, releasing her leg.

His face was calm, showing no emotion.

"I don't know if I would be strong enough to do that. How did you not get depressed?" she asked, shaking her head as she tried to not concentrate on the lack of his touch.

He smiled a faint smile, taking a deep breath.

"The thing is. Once you survive, there is only one road. You can sit there and be depressed and lament on it, it's still going to be a road. Same length. Same difficulty" he said and she felt her forehead crease with the worry she felt inside her chest.

"So there really wasn't a choice. I wasn't dead and there was a way out, easy as that" he said calmly, his lips twisting into an encouraging smile. Somehow it didn't calm her nerves.

She watched him, her face obviously still conveying pain and it seemed to unnerve him.

He let his gaze fall to the floor, as if he didn't like her concern showing in such a blatant way.

"I should go take a shower" he said, getting up suddenly and turning to walk to the bathroom.

She blinked, turning to watch his departing form.

"I really have no classified documents here, but you're welcome to review my other utility bills as well" he looked back smirking and she rolled her eyes, getting up from the armchair as she heard the bathroom door close.

She sighed, trying to shake the uneasy feelings the conversation brought on. She returned to her investigation of his living space. She really didn't have much to snoop through, she realized, apart from a bunch of books and CD's haplessly thrown around the room.

She heard the shower turn on and occupied herself with going through his CD's. She saw the sound system, with an iPod connected and she chuckled not having seen one in years. She pushed play and sat back down on the couch as Tom Petty's voice filled the room.

She sat there thinking about the things he described to her. He seemed to have such an indifference when he was talking about his experiences but she suspected it was a result of a long process of rebuilding. Not just of his body, but his mind, his emotional control. How do you, after almost dying, want to go back and risk it all over again? You can train and build your strength, but how do you train yourself to let go of the fear?

That thought made her shiver, that seeing him lift himself effortlessly wasn't the most blatant proof of the strength he possessed.

He reentered the room and she turned to him as he walked up to her.

"Hey" he said, coming to stand before her, clad in a fresh shirt, buttoned up, and slacks, his hair still wet from the shower.

His head dipped down to give her a chaste kiss and she realized they haven't even greeted each other before, even though she'd been giddy with anticipation since she landed on the airport.

"Hey" she whispered.

"What do you want to do?" he asked and she felt a smile spread across her face as she raised an eyebrow.

She pulled him down next to her on the couch and moved quickly, straddling him as his hands went up her back, his face burrowing into her chest.

"Hey" he murmured, this time the greeting more sensual, his voice deep with want.

She pushed her hips into his and listened as he hissed, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"I feel like maybe you're using me for carnal satisfaction solely" he murmured, his voice husky.

"I gave up searching for secret military documents, at least you could give me this" she teased and he chuckled.

"So it is just carnal satisfaction you want?" he asked.

"You mind?" she asked, her lips teasing his.

"Not one bit" he replied before kissing her breathless.

* * *

It was easy to fall into a pattern with him, she realized. Her work was erratic, but then again, so was his, so he didn't seem to mind when she took off for days, or even a week at a time. Their connection didn't seem to suffer, as falling back into the intimate but still distant rapport was instant whenever she saw him.

It was easy for other reasons too. She wondered if damage recognizes damage, his silent and controlled mannerism giving her peace. They danced around each other's silent boundaries as if it were second nature to them and she found herself relaxing into the familiarity, something she hadn't been able to do for years.

He was sitting on her couch in his briefs, when she came back with a glass of water for him. It was an unusually warm spring evening and he'd showed up at her place after several days of not seeing her, probably straight from work, his shirt buttoned up to his neck despite the heat. He had her against the kitchen counter, with her opened robe billowing in the breeze of the fan she had set up there.

They didn't make it to her bedroom before the second round, but she did manage to undress him. He seemed to be more comfortable with her watching his body, although she did note that his t-shirt was the first thing he put on after she left for drinks.

She pulled the tie of her robe tight as she sat down on the other end of the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. She handed him the glass of water and he finished it off in several thirsty gulps.

"What the hell are you drinking?" he asked as he finished drinking, eying her can off energy drink that she was sipping slowly.

"I believe it's called Burn," she eyed the can, turning it to be able to read the side, "bubblegum flavor."

"Jesus" he rolled his eyes and she chuckled at his not so subtle judging.

There was a sudden knock at the door and they both startled.

"You expecting someone?" he asked, his eyes focused on the door.

She shook her head and got off the couch to walk to the door, rearranging her robe. She looked through the peephole and sighed, cursing silently.

She glanced back nervously at Tristan and opened the door only slightly.

"Hey gorgeous," the tall lanky man said to her, "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd check in."

"Hey," she said, glancing backwards, "this is not a good time" she continued, holding the door in place.

"You sure?" the man said, his voice dropping a notch.

"Yes, she's sure" she heard Tristan from behind her, opening the door wider.

The guy stumbled back a step as he looked at Tristan, no doubt unnerved by his expression.

"Alright, my bad, sorry" he said as he scurried down the stairs.

She closed the door, her annoyance quickly dissipating her embarrassment.

"That was very Robert DeNiro of you" she pointed out cynically as she turned to face him.

"It looked like that was the fastest way to handle that situation" he said, turning around.

"Any chance we're gonna pretend this didn't happen, without you asking questions?" she said as she watched him walk back to the couch and sit back in his previous spot.

He looked up at her, his face calm, but certainly not his usual indifferent expression.

"Oh, are you the only one here with questioning rights?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's not my boyfriend if that's what you're worried about" she stated, rolling her eyes.

"It didn't look like he was your boyfriend" he retorted pointedly and she scoffed in indignation.

She sat back down on the couch taking another sip from her can, bracing herself for the conversation.

"Was that Logan?" he asked, his voice low, uncertain.

She swallowed carefully.

"No," she said shaking her head as she regarded him, "that was... David... an acquaintance."

His eyebrows raised slightly.

"A different guy you hook up with sometimes?" he asked, the cynicism not lost on her.

"I'm sorry, is this going to be a sermon on the mount about my lifestyle?" she asked, slightly offended.

He raised his arms shrugging.

"Hey, it's your life" he said, defecting, as he occupied himself with the newspaper he found on the coffee table, but somehow it didn't calm her feelings swirling inside her chest.

"I would think that you, of all people, would understand what a career does and does not permit" she replied slowly.

"It seems to me that your career is more a result than a cause" he pointed out, without looking at her and she furrowed her brow.

"Yeah? And how did you come to that conclusion?" she asked, her voice defensive.

He looked back at her, dropping the newspaper on the coffee table, sighing.

"Let's see" he started and she felt herself tense slightly. "The last I saw of you, you were a shy, smart kid, totally incorruptible and naive to the point of insanity, focused on nothing but your studies but still able to have a picture perfect high school romance and be home to have dinner with your mom by eight" he spoke softly, but with a quiet edge to his voice that told her that his current assessment was going to be less idyllic.

"And now?" she prompted him, her voice steely.

"And now... you live alone, your apartment still has boxes of stuff unpacked even though I'm guessing you've lived here a while. There's no pictures of... anyone. And you don't get calls. You check your emails a lot, but I'm guessing it's for work. And you change the subject any time I bring up anything related to your family. You are in your thirties and unmarried, you say stuff that makes me do a double take and gives me an erection at the same time and you have strange guys show up at your doorstep..."

"It was one guy" she interjected.

"I'm counting me too" he retorted and she chuckled, the tension easing slightly.

She looked at him, the two of them staring at each other and she felt like they were on a dangerous precipice, not quite knowing how they'd survive the fall.

He went on, his words slower "You jet off to a different foreign country weekly, I'm guessing not because it's what you always wanted to do, but because it justifies your way of life" he finished his monologue and her mood soured at his last sentence, her fears realizing slowly.

"They teach a lot of psychology in the army?" she asked, but her voice came out frail rather than pointed.

"They do actually" he replied quietly, a humorless smirk on his face.

They stared at each other, silent as he searched her face for any reaction, she figured. She stood in his gaze, silently looking for a way out even as she knew there wasn't any way to return to the mutual treaty they inherently observed. She suddenly felt that distant intimacy, that carefully built armistice crumble and she took a breath, bracing herself for the fall.

"My mother is dead" she said, keeping her voice calm as if she were informing him of a minor detail.

His face froze, as if suddenly everything fell into place in his mind. She felt herself suffocate, even as she took the next breath and the one after, his face still frozen in that expression of horrid recognition, as everything else, the room, her traitorous apartment with its signs and clues, seemed to spin, making her dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

She lifted her head, bracing against the weight pushing down upon her, like a thousand engrossed gravities, looking at him still, willing her face to stay calm, like she had seen his stay calm over and over again.

"Car accident" she clarified, pleased with how her voice stayed void of emotions.

"I'm sorry" he murmured and she couldn't suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of the words.

Her voice seemed to echo in the apartment, the returning tingles maddeningly loud to her own ears, before silence finally set in and she was thankful for it, thankful for him for not trying to break it.

There was a million empty words to fill this silence. She'd had these conversations before.

 _Sorry for your loss. I know you were close. It must be unbearable._

What the fuck could anyone really say?

"Do you want hotdogs?" she asked, taking a deep breath and pushing down the taste of bile in the back of her throat.

There was a beat of silence as he studied her face.

"Let's get pizza instead" he replied.

* * *

She felt him watch her as she was scrapping the label off her beer. The bottles where piling up on the table and she amused herself by building a row out of them.

"Are you gonna tell me how it happened?" she heard his quiet voice and she closed her eyes, feeling the slight sway of the room.

"No. I think not. I think we've had enough of the sharing circle tonight." she replied, her voice light as she got back to the task at hand.

"Okay" he noted, leaning back on the other side of the booth in the far back corner of the bar, a half finished pizza between them.

"I... you know my life is not a result of... I ... I am happy with how I live" her several failed attempts to voice a credible retort were laced with the high pitch of her voice, a sure sign that maybe she should lay back on the beers.

"Traveling?" he asked, his body an unmoving statue. A calm, unchanging statue, she noted.

"Yes, traveling" she jumped at the term. "I... I am free to do that and I have no guilt about it and I am happy, okay? Or content or whatever you call it" she replied, watching as he remained stoic despite her wild gesturing with the half empty bottle.

In the back of her mind she knew her words were getting sloppy, the thoughts in her head not really translating into eloquent reasoning.

"Okay" came his reply with a slight nod again.

"And I... just because I have guys... I am not all of a sudden morally corruptible..." she explained, suddenly self-conscious.

"Hey, I enjoy this better than Saint Mary, trust me" he sighed, cutting off her ramble.

She studied his face, willing it to not show pity, remorse. All the things she felt were inevitable.

She shook her head, trying to will herself to not focus on those expressions, imagined or real.

"Did you not... did you not hook up with girls when you came back in between tours?" she asked pointedly, her lips curling into a lewd smile.

"I saw those soldiers coming back from leave to Europe, their faces stupidly happy. I mean those uniforms, I get that they serve a purpose, but also, shit they make your asses look good" she said, stressing her last words for a theatrical effect, her face feeling warm. She was overcompensating, deflecting. Anything to distract herself from studying his face for his silent reactions.

"Okay. I think no more beer for you" he said, prying her unfinished bottle out of her hand.

"No, come on. Tell me. Did you used to come back and have pussy for breakfast?" she asked, suddenly curious, her choice of words giving herself a thrill. She saw him look away as he swallowed, reveling in his uncomfortable reaction. She let her mind wander, imagining him on leave, in his uniform, losing himself in mindless sex.

"I thought we were done with the sharing circle" he murmured, his face troubled.

"Oooh, so you did. You banged those girls good" she hummed, the thought suddenly exciting her. She saw him raise an almost accusing eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm not complaining, you are extremely good at that," she pointed towards him, "very energetic, very... hmmm. It's good you had practice."

She watched as he studied her quietly and then shook his head lightly.

"I remember you being a lot more reserved" he said wryly.

It cooled her mood, but also insulted her, her mind clearing in a sudden rush, his accusation making her feel self-conscious. She felt a torrent of angry rage inside herself.

"Yeah, I swear, I drink energy drinks, I say things that give you an erection and I fuck like a little slut," she said, her words cold and seething as his perplexed gaze landed on her, "tell me which part of that you don't enjoy, Tristan" her voice dropped a notch as she looked at him, her eyes provoking.

She watched as he held her gaze and swallowed hard and she chuckled to herself, knowing exactly what sort of effect she had on him, even in her inebriated state.

"Why didn't you fuck anyone since you got hurt?" she asked, suddenly serious, making sure to further provoke him with her profanity.

He shook his head slightly.

"I... I guess it wasn't worth the trouble" he said, his shoulders raising then dropping.

"The trouble?" she repeated, tasting the word like it was foreign, her rage suddenly dissipating in the face of his calm and surrendering admission.

"I don't know if you noticed but I don't necessarily like people asking questions about my work" he offered as an explanation.

He looked at her now, his gaze almost soft, unaccusing.

"And your scars would make anyone have a thousand questions" she wondered out loud, seeing him give no reaction.

"Does that mean I should feel special?" she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

He kept his gaze on her, his eyes burning as she was unable to look away.

"Why on earth would you not feel special, Rory?" he asked, his words cutting through her like a knife as he looked at her intently.

She felt like she was suffocating again.

"Where is that waitress? I need another beer" she murmured, looking around to break away from his intense gaze.

"No, you don't" he said, getting up from the booth and digging into his pocket to throw money on the table. "Let's go".

He pulled her out of the booth, ignoring her protests.

She felt him take her hand and pull her towards the exit of the crowded bar. His steps were certain, efficient as she stumbled after him, the crowded space making her job harder.

They finally reached the exit, the cool night air hitting her and clearing her head infinitesimally.

She stopped abruptly, looking at him as he turned back to regard her, his eyes questioning.

"Tell me why you debated" she said, digging her feet into the concrete of the sidewalk, like a petulant child.

He looked around, slightly annoyed and she felt prompted to demand an answer.

"Was the debate about wanting sex versus having to tell me all this shit?" she asked, suddenly desperate for an answer.

"What do you want to hear Rory? Ask me the question you want the answer to" he replied, his face hurt.

She held his intense stare, her body feeling weightless and her skin forming goosebumps as she watched him step closer to her.

"You know what the debate was about. You want to know what trumped my reasoning, right?" he said, his voice accusatory.

She stared at him, taken aback by the surge of emotions on his face.

"Do you want me to tell you that I couldn't stop thinking about you?" he asked, his face contorting into a frown, as much emotion as she'd ever see from him.

"That I couldn't stop imagining fucking you? That I had a fucking hard on when I thought about so much as your voice?" he asked and she felt her breathing becoming strained, her eyes focusing on his lips.

"Do you want me to tell you that I'm turned on now?" he asked, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close letting her feel just how much he was.

"Do you want me to tell you how much I hate it? How I'd rather not spend my time with someone as infuriating as you and even more evasive than me? Do you want me to tell you I'd rather focus on getting back to where I want to be and not be distracted by someone who is clearly messed up?" he said, his tone cold as his voice dropped to a whisper.

There was silence now as they stood, with him holding her, his ragged breathing vibrating against her chest.

"Let's go back to my place" she said, pushing off of him and turning to walk in her apartment's direction, her steps swaying lightly, she felt not from the three beers she had, but the pulsing need inside her. Her mind suddenly felt clear, her skin cooling from the still chilly spring evening.

She heard him fall into step behind her and she didn't look back, concentrating on making the journey back quickly.

She knew he was behind her, even without looking back, feeling his radiating emotions from behind her and she hastened her steps, practically running up her stairs. She opened the front door without any problems, continuing on to her door. She felt her fingers shake as she tried to insert the key into her lock and she sighed as he took them from her hands gently, sliding the key into the lock smoothly.

She pushed the door open in a frustrated huff of air and pulled him along, heading straight to her bedroom.

"Take your clothes off" she said as she turned on the lamp on her nightstand, a fine tremor shaking her fingers as she turned to look at him. He stood unmoving.

"Take. Your. Clothes. Off" she repeated herself, emphasizing the words as if she could control him like she could her speech.

He sighed lightly, but he didn't resist, his hands moving to his belt buckle, his eyes fixed on hers.

He unfastened his jeans and let them fall to the ground, his erection proving he wasn't lying before.

She slowly stepped in his direction, her eyes intent on his as she lowered to her knees in front of him, the silence of the apartment a deafening sound in her head.

"Rory" came his voice, in a warning tone, but the throaty depth of it gave him away.

Her hand reached out to grasp him and she felt him tense instantly.

She glanced up at him for a moment before opening her mouth and letting him slide in.

"Shit" he cursed, his hands grasping her shoulder and the back of her head.

She stilled for a second, letting him find his purchase before pulling back slowly and sucking him back in again.

He felt smooth and clean, thick and throbbing in her mouth. His hand tensed on the back of her head and he groaned as she felt him hit the back of her throat. She felt tears prick at her eyes and liquid pool between her legs and she moved again, setting a punishing rhythm.

"Jesus Christ, Rory" she heard him.

She moaned, bathing him in the light vibrations and she felt him jerk into her mouth.

She let go of him, her hands going around to his back instead and she relaxed her throat, letting him slide further.

"Fuck Rory, I'm gonna cum" he warned and she felt the hand on her shoulder push her back gently. She resisted and moaned her encouragement, wanting to feel her power over him.

He cursed again, the last of his resolve seemingly fading and she felt the hand on the back of her head flex as he encouraged her movements. His hips started moving and he pumped into her mouth, almost making her gag. She steadied her breathing, keeping her throat loose and let him fuck her in earnest.

He cursed again, his whole body going rigid as he thrust into her mouth again and she felt him explode, his tart taste filling her senses. She swallowed and moaned, lost in the feelings, her mind a delicious blank.

She looked up at him as he staggered back a step, slipping from her mouth. Her fingers moved to her lips, feeling the tingling numbness of them and she watched as he stood, his body still heaving from the exertion.

He looked down at her and gently lifted her up to push her back onto the bed.

"You're deflecting" he panted.

"Says the guy avoiding treatment for PTSD" she retorted, noting the sway of the room.

She saw his eyes flash and she froze, feeling like maybe she'd gone too far.

She heard a humorless chuckle and she felt him slide her skirt up and pull her panties down.

"You want to talk about post-traumatic stress, Rory?" she heard him, his voice a deep growl.

His words made her feel uneasy, her chest constricting, but she was distracted by the feel of his fingers sliding into her.

She moaned, her sex clenching around his digits.

"You wanna fucking explain to me why I do what I do? You want to understand why I live alone? Why the only thing I fucking work for is to go back? Why the only thing that can take my mind off of it is fucking you?" she heard him whisper in her ear, his voice broken and terse at the same time.

She held onto his arms, her eyes closing as she felt his fingers sliding out of her and finding her clit.

"You want to be all smart and pin it on the fact that I saw my friends being blown to bloody pulps? Go ahead. You want to talk about it? You want to put me on fucking antidepressants? Did that ever make you feel better?"

His words were cruel, but his actions distracted her mind, her legs falling open to let him position himself in between them.

He took a condom from her nightstand, guiding it onto himself and she felt his hips descend on her and his cock slide into her within moments.

Her eyes snapped open as she felt him rock hard despite having just come in her mouth a mere minutes ago.

"Because it's not going to make me feel better. Nothing is going to change the way I feel" he continued, his words strained. He thrust into her, her body already floating from the pleasure he was inducing, his words registering as though from very far.

"I am not like this because I was there. I belong there because I am like this. This is why I was chosen. Because I am good for nothing else. You think this is post-traumatic stress?" he asked, the question underscored by a poignant thrust.

"Trauma was being born" he went on, each sentence followed by a thrust of his hips and a soft moan from her.

"It was growing up. It was not belonging. My life is fucking post trauma. That's why I am good at what I do. I can go there and kill. This is what society can use me for."

He finished his monologue as she felt him thrust into her again and she fell apart, crying out as she convulsed, her nails scraping his back.

* * *

She laid against his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart, his fingers trailing lazy lines down the small of her bare back. The window was open, the light breeze coming in feeling relieving on her overheated skin.

"I was talking to her on the phone when it happened" she started talking, her voice small and she felt his fingers stop for a second before resuming their ministrations.

"I just finished a briefing at the White House," she went on, "it was late and she was driving back from my grandparents with her boyfriend" she swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

He remained silent, his breathing slow and barely making his chest move, his fingers the only sign he was listening to her intently.

"She was recounting the dinner, in her usual over the top way and I guess... I guess she was driving erratically... I heard Luke tell her to slow down twice. But that's how she drove and that's how he was, so I didn't even register it."

She took a deep breath, feeling the sting of tears. She closed her eyes. She hadn't cried for years but she hadn't let herself think of it in years.

"She loved that god damn jeep, but it was a million years old. And he let her drive it because he couldn't say no to her" she said, her voice tense with guilt and regret.

"I guess they swerved off to the other lane and she overcompensated" she stopped, unable to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I heard the crash on the line and then the line went dead" she said.

She felt his fingers stop again and his hand squeeze her barely noticeably.

"I got in my car and drove calling 911 and my grandparents and everyone I knew back in Stars Hollow" she continued and so did his hand, this time a full caress rather than his fingers brazing her.

"It's a 350 mile drive and I did it in 4 hours. I had to stop for gas and by then I knew they were dead. My grandma called to tell me."

She felt him exhale under her as if he were holding his breath up until then.

"I'm sorry Rory" he said, his voice a quite murmur, but she felt it resonate in his chest under her ear.

"So yeah. I stayed in Stars Hollow until the funerals and then I left and never went back. I quit being a white House reporter and took a job as an overseas correspondent. I did whatever they threw at me and I didn't care how dangerous a place it was. That's how I got that story in Afghanistan. They made a big deal about it. I got the Pulitzer and they offered me a shitload of money to do whatever I wanted. So I have this place here and I go on these trips that I've always wanted to go on and they pay me to write about whatever I want and yeah, sometimes ex boyfriends show up and sometimes I hook up with random dudes, but I... can't have it be still around me for a long time. If things are still... I start thinking... if I start thinking... I..."

"I know" he cut her off, pulling her closer into his hold "I understand. I'm sorry."

She felt the words leave her, finally feeling relieved in a way she hadn't in a long time. She felt his strong arms around her, his fingers still caressing her, his lips kissing her hair as he rocked her gently. It's how she fell asleep.


	7. Singing hey la

Author's note:

I seriously love reading all of your reactions (chelsbaby: best assessment ever; hereforthe: you read this to your husband? that is truelovenoboundaries, girl), thank you very much.

This whole story is M, but this next chapter is a little descriptive, if you know what I mean, so you've been warned.

* * *

She couldn't remember the last time she had gotten a good night's sleep.

She blamed the constant jetlag, her circadian rhythm messed up to a point where she didn't even try to force herself to sleep at the proper time anymore, instead accepting the constant ache of exhaustion without the relief. Rest seemed elusive and she often found herself staring up at the ceiling, her mind and body both exhausted but somehow unable to let go, relax and drift off. Then again, when she was back home she was seldom alone to stare at her ceiling by herself.

They had been meeting up often even before, but since the night that she'd opened up to him, it seemed like they spent every free moment together.

There was a strange pull between them, their admissions to each other somehow binding them with invisible, but sturdy little ties, crisscrossing between their battered and restless souls.

She spoke no more of it and he didn't prompt her, as if the basics have been absorbed and the details inconsequential.

She was thankful to say the least. She had after all had unnerving experiences related to this. People wanted sharing. Heart to hearts. Emotional disentanglement and resolution, catharsis, revelations tied into neat little packages. She'd lost more than one person when she couldn't give them that. Paris, Lane, Jess even. They all thought they'd break through, after the right amount of time and effort. But truth was she wanted no resolution, no break through, no getting over it. And no reminders. So she was happy to leave them behind, constant traveling, changing phone numbers and addresses aiding her in the process.

She also was weary about meeting new people for the same reason. Striking up relationships was easy enough, but there came a time to share and explain and it would lead to pity and worry and essentially the same process that had even lead her to sacrifice relationships that were decades old, not to mention those that had just started.

She just equated talking and opening up to asking for it, risking unleashing her own turmoil upon herself without any resolution, any relief in return.

But it was different with him. Perhaps because he had his own barrage of memories carefully restrained and locked away, with no further need to dissect and redeem, the experience of simple sharing bound them in a deep and quiet understanding that she had never experienced before.

It was discussed and abandoned, leaving her at peace. She found it easy to lock everything back into wherever she had buried it before. There was no bitter aftertaste really, and no aversion towards him.

Perhaps it was because of this that the pull towards him did not waver, if anything it intensified. It was almost impossible to stay away and neither of them seemed to try, reveling in the place of suddenly found comfort that the mutual sharing of their respective unresolved traumas seemed to have brought. There was no need to explain further but nothing to tiptoe around either, instead they could just give into the pull, electric, intense and constant.

She cancelled several trips, making it seem like she was long due for a break and needing to finish up a number of projects that piled up from her insane schedule in the last year, but if she was being honest, it felt nice to be home for the first time in a long time. She spent her days writing, going out for walks, even experimenting with cooking, although with limited success.

He spent his days away, sometimes showing up early afternoon, other times late at night. He didn't seem to follow any particular office hours, sometimes staying in bed with her until noon, but sometimes disappearing suddenly after his mysterious pager went off.

The pager set off a predictable series of events. He'd use her landline to call some number, only saying a few brief words of confirmation and giving out her address as his only response. A car would show up in a couple of minutes and he'd kiss her goodbye without much explanation. Sometimes he'd be back a couple of hours later, but there were times when she didn't see him for several days.

The pager was an unyielding power in his life, she realized, and no matter what they were doing, how intimate he was with her when it went off, he answered the call instantly, sometimes curbing his own needs, although never hers, finishing her off with enviable speed, self control and concentration if needed, after hanging up the phone, but before getting dressed to meet the car out front.

If she looked irked by these instances, he didn't take note of it, kissing her unapologetically and only whispering a quiet "I'm sorry".

She could have felt annoyed by these occurrences, but somehow she didn't, his quiet professionalism somehow a bigger turn on than any nuisance of an interrupted date.

She noticed things about his work, signs. She never saw him watching the news or reading the paper, but he was knowledgeable not just about current affairs but obscure references too. It was like he was a walking encyclopedia. He advised her on traveling, pointing out alternative routes or drawing her attention to weather patterns she'd disregarded; reminded her of advisories and pointed out the need for visas. He was not ever surprised by events that happened, that took place, as though he were informed about everything in advance or half expecting them.

It was hard to plan with him. Spontaneous activities were okay, but sometimes cut short and if she had tickets for something, more often than not she ended up asking Jimmy, her photographer, to join her last minute. He always let her know he wouldn't make it and she figured he'd be unreachable for a while.

She was almost used to these occurrences and the way it made their life unpredictable. The rest of their connection seemed to be counteracting this particular characteristic, the relationship slowly growing into a surprisingly steady part of her life.

He'd been spending most nights over and their attraction didn't seem to tame. If anything, getting passed those invisible walls liberated them, his need suddenly untamed and hers fueled by his zest. She wondered when he slept at all, what with his unpredictable work schedule and his insatiable need when they were together. It was hard to resist him, whether he was solemn and quiet or playful and bantering. He was always ready for her and always eager. His body was full of life, turning her on all the time, and the way he made love drove her wild with want.

That was a definite change in his demeanor that she'd noted, from the restrained and pent up nature of their first coupling to something wild and uninhibited. He engaged in sex with a fervor that swept her away and cleared her mind of all else. Instead of silent and serious, he was vocal and liberated and she welcomed the change and mirrored it, as though the act was healing for them both, therapeutic in an inexplicable way.

He spoke to her constantly when they were intimate, his words increasingly filthy and surprisingly invigorating, and she never remembered having liked dirty talk much before, but when he talked, she seemed to feel no embarrassment, no shame, drinking up the words as though she were mesmerized. He was repetitive, and engaging, sometimes asking her to repeat his words. At first it made her blush, her words coming out in a timid whisper, but he encouraged her, praised her and egged her on, perhaps noting the way it escalated her pleasure, not letting her stop until she was urged to scream in his ear, begging him to fuck her until she couldn't walk.

It was always exciting, electrifying, mindblowing with him.

He'd fucked her against the wall, bent over the couch, sitting up on her kitchen counter and in her shower, from behind, marking her with his release as the water fell down over them and she gasped for breath in the humid heat. He worshiped her regularly, his tongue precise, focused, amazingly skillful, her clit rock hard in his mouth as he sucked it to orgasm. He was thorough and enthusiastic, seemingly infatuated with the taste of her, with the feel of her against his face, moaning into her center as he worked on her diligently, her fingers twisting into his hair as she urged him with a series of breathless gasps.

She loved to take him into her mouth, his smooth, hard length inviting, his deep gasps and moans encouraging her. He was never forceful, but his hands in her hair were a firm guidance for her as she concentrated on his reactions, sucking him off, taking an incredible amount of pleasure in having him at her mercy.

She'd been more adventurous than she ever remembered being, uninhibited, unrestrained and liberated, engaging in new positions that surprised even him, his stunned and filthy comments egging her on.

She loved when he called her Mary, remembering his infatuation with her from so long ago and she begged him to tell him his fantasies from school.

He did, whispering in her ear about how he wanted her on her knees in the janitor's closet, about how he wanted to fuck her until she couldn't walk, up against the benches in the courtyard, on the prop table while they were acting out that scene with everyone watching. He told her how he fantasized about her, on her knees and covered in his cum, her pretty pink lips sucking on his glistening cock.

They were ridiculous childhood fantasies and she'd laugh hysterically, until she'd feel him rock hard against her back, his teeth skimming the side of her neck from behind.

He did things that she never thought she'd enjoy, his ability to turn her on seemingly without a limit. He held her down with a skillful hand, restraining her efficiently as he fucked her on the bed from behind, her one leg pulled up to her side, as her face was pushed into a pillow and his hips pistoned into her. He pulled her hair, gently, but firmly, making her moan out loud and arching her body into a tightly wound, whimpering column. He had her waiting on all fours as his tongue probed all her entryways. He had her feel him against her asshole as he made her come over and over again with his finger, leaving her in a state of raw exposure, her mind reeling as she felt him push forward excruciatingly slowly.

He chased her release relentlessly. She came hard every time, dissolving into a pulsing, whimpering mess as he still towered over her panting. She knew his routine, his body heaving for a minute as he stilled himself, slowly regaining purchase before moving to check to see if she was okay, his hand skimming over her figure as if to take stock of any damage before he collapsed next to her exhausted.

She was obsessed with studying his climax, although rarely was she in charge of all her faculties when the moment occurred. He usually came with the softest of sighs and a stifled groan, his face smoothing momentarily as his orgasm raked his body, lasting long seconds, his release erupting from him in overwhelming, robust spurts, making her gasp wherever she felt it. Sometimes he was especially vocal, calling her name out with an arousing growl, followed by several moans as his body shook, his hands tangled in her hair and he seemed the most genuine, most unguarded these times, giving her a thrill that made her instantly long for the next time she could witness his abandon.

The more she had him, the more she craved him, loving the way his body responded to hers.

"How are you so good at this?" she asked, not for the first time as she laid in his arms, spent.

The afternoon light flooded her room with a warm glow as they laid on her bed.

She felt him chuckle beneath her, his response slightly slow.

"What do you mean?" he asked, the deep timber of his voice making her shiver.

"Where you this good back in high school?" she asked, her tone playful.

He laughed even harder.

"I doubt it" he said, his voice back to his deep calm.

She felt incredibly light, something she seldom did, despite the comfort their familiarity had started to bring.

"So then how? They give you much action in the army?" she asked, turning around to glance at his face, happy to be able to banter with him.

"You'd be surprised" he smirked, sighing as he relaxed into the bed laying under her as they stared at the ceiling together, his arm caressing her side.

"Would I?" she teased.

"I mean there's always ways to have a night off the base. And you know what girls get like when they see a uniform" he murmured, his voice mischievous, something she only remembered being back when they were innocent teenagers.

"What do they get like?" she asked, her voice laced with a curious tingle.

"Horny" he chuckled, the simple word passing a warm current through her body as he whispered it into her ear.

"So it was townies and groupies?" she asked, listening to him as she continued to stare up at the ceiling.

There was a thoughtful silence from him and she waited patiently.

"Why do you like to ask about this?" he replied with a question and she wondered if he was uncomfortable.

"Do I like to ask about this?" she retorted, her voice a warm tingle.

"Yeah. I feel like it riles you up" he replied, his voice sounding warm.

"Riles me up?" she furrowed her brows.

"Turns you on" he clarified and she felt her heartbeat pick up as he gently repositioned her, making room for their altered configuration.

"Hmm. Possibly" she hummed and felt a snort from him.

"Why?" he breathed.

"Why does imagining you fucking random people turn me on?" she asked, making her voice innocent even as she gently arched her back, putting pressure on where he was already reacting to her and tuning her senses to his expected groan of arousal. "I don't know" she shrugged, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling as she felt him grow fully aroused under her.

"What was the question again?" he murmured, inhaling the scent of her hair as his fingers dug into her hips.

"How did you get your fill? Townies and groupies?" she repeated herself.

"Yeah" he sighed, taking his next breath from her hair. "I guess. Or daughters living close to bases" he replied, his hand moving to caress the skin on her stomach.

"Ooh, did you have a torrid love affair with a general's daughter?" she asked excitedly.

He chuckled.

"I think by that time I was focused more on trying to train to be able to stay alive. I think my peak years were in military school" he replied, slightly shaking his head.

"Hmm, so it's a mystery then" she wondered out loud.

"What is?" he asked, amused.

"How you get me off so quickly" she replied, her voice dropping.

He laughed out, wholeheartedly.

"I mean, it might have something to do with you and your ability?" he replied, half asking.

"My ability?" she asked, turning in his arms to look at him.

"Yeah, you come in seconds, that's not... I'm not the one doing that. You're..." he sighed, looking at her with a stupid grin "I never thought you'd be so... responsive."

She felt her face warm and she turned back into her prior position, her eyes focused on the ceiling as she bit her lips.

"Well, I didn't think either. This... it's not normal for me" she said, her eyes tracing patterns on the ceiling, suddenly feeling self conscious for some reason.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice laced with arousal.

"Yeah" she admitted, her face still warm.

"So when I do this...," he asked, his fingers dipping lower from where he was caressing her stomach, "and you sigh like that... that's unusual?" he asked, his fingers slipping lower, finding just where to touch her instantly. She hissed, feeling the sudden pressure there.

"I guess not everyone knows how to properly do _'this'_ " she whispered, breathy voice trembling.

He turned her head back towards him with his free hand to be able to reach her and he kissed her, slow and gentle, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

She sighed as they pulled apart, once again resting her head against his chest.

"Did you miss it?" she asked, her tone still playful even as the mood shifted lightly, her fingers interlacing with his.

"Sex?" he asked, releasing a breath as though he instantly synced with her changing mood.

"Yeah" she nodded.

"It was the furthest thing from my mind to tell you the truth. I was focused for a long time and I guess it was a way to sometimes blow off steam, but… I stopped being addicted to it after leaving my teens" he shrugged gently beneath her. "Do you miss it when you don't have it?" he asked her, suddenly interested.

She closed her eyes shrugging slightly, mirroring his prior movements.

"I used to think it was sacred. I used to put too much emphasis on emotion. But then I realized, if done right, it doesn't have to be all that. It can just be what it is. Like you said... a distraction. It clears my mind" she shrugged.

"Ouch. And here I've been working so hard" he joked, with playful indignation.

"No, I don't mean with you. It's not the same with you. I meant with all the barrage of men you alluded to" she said, sighing.

There was silence again and she felt as though he had tensed under her even as his hands where back to caressing her skin. She wondered what he was more focused on, her referring to the promiscuous lifestyle he seemed to have been surprised by or her confession that she'd felt different about him.

"Does that help?" he asked quietly, his voice suddenly serious.

"Sleeping with men?" she asked, looking for clarification.

He didn't reply but nodded gently, focusing on her profile.

She swallowed, shaking her head to get a hold of herself.

"Momentarily" she said, her voice cracking slightly.

"Does this help?" he asked, his fingers tracing a path down her side, making her realize he did note her prior remark differentiating him from the ones before.

"I'm not sure what it does, it's hard to explain it" she whispered.

He hummed in agreement or understanding, she couldn't say.

His fingers trailed up her body and along her neck to reach her mouth and her lips opened involuntarily.

He dipped his two fingers in, her soft tongue meeting them.

He growled as her tongue wet his fingers. She could feel him twitching against her back.

"Your tongue..." he murmured, trailing off.

He took his fingers, now glistening with her saliva and moved them to her sex, touching her clit with precision, her slick saliva making it easy for him to massage her and she gasped, bucking in his hold.

She felt him adjust himself against her ass, his erection straining against her.

"Tell me what it is like for you" she whispered, her eyes closed as she concentrated on his movements.

"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"When you have me. Tell me what it was like to have sex again for the first time" she breathed, her heart beating wildly.

She felt him release a breath against the side of her neck.

"You want to know what it was like to have you for the first time?" he teased and she breathed a mumbling confirmation as his fingers distracted her.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anyone more in my life than you right then. When we kissed, against the wall, with your legs wrapped around me, and your cunt pressed up against my cock... I wanted to bury it inside you, I wanted to fuck you right there. I felt like I was gonna tear you apart" he sighed.

His voice was low as he whispered in her ear, his finger working in a practiced rhythm.

"You didn't" she hiccuped, remembering how he got her off, much like he was doing now.

"I wanted to see you cum first. I needed to see what you looked like before I lost my mind having you" he breathed into her ear, as he rocked his hips into her back.

"What was it like?" she asked, her voice a throaty moan.

"When you came from my hand? You're fucking beautiful when you come. Your eyes cloud over, your mouth opens, your nipples tighten, you pant these shallow breaths and then your whole fucking body tenses before you start shaking, and your cunt gets tight like I can't imagine. Do you know what it feels like to be inside you when you come? Do you know how it feels when you squeeze my cock like that?" he murmured, his words getting feverish as his fingers sped up.

"What did it feel like?" she panted, her fingers curling around his arms as she felt her body lifted and white hot pleasure wash all over her.

"It felt like I was alive again, all I could feel was my cock inside you and you warm and tight and amazing around me" he whispered as she came in his arms with a loud moan.

She felt him move from under her, even as she was convulsing in pleasure, then she heard the tear of the wrapper and his hiss as he readied himself.

She felt him enter her and she opened her eyes, seeing him aroused above her.

"You feel like that every time" he whispered as he thrust into her, making her moan again. 

* * *

She stared out the window focusing on the pulsing red lights on the top of the skyscrapers as the curious fog dissipated the lights from the streets below. The city went on as far as the eye could see and the sight made her feel anxious and calm at the same time. She sat on the ledge of the sealed window, glancing down onto the phone in her hand, silently calculating the time back home. It was the middle of the day there, which would explain her inability to get any sleep at all.

She sighed as her fingers searched for his number from her call history. She took up a habit of leaving him short messages on his land line, telling him a short anecdote or brief description of what she was seeing on the old school answering machine of his without an outgoing message.

She heard the beep and laid back against the wall starting to talk as though they were in middle of an ongoing conversation.

"This town has an audible buzz. Or hum. At first I thought it was the AC in the hotel room, but it's coming from the outside" she said, speaking into her cell.

There was another beep on the line and static and his voice came on, surprising her.

"Are you the only one who hears it? Like spontaneous otoacustic emissions?" he asked, his voice calm.

She chuckled.

"You're home?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"Yeah" he replied. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Jetlag" she explained.

"Some saké and the hum should help with that" he replied.

"The hum keeps me awake" she sighed.

"Earplugs" he replied matter of factly.

"Tried. Still hear it" she retorted.

"Hmm" he snorted amused. "That does sound like SOAE. But Tokyo is not a typical place they report it from."

She squeezed her eyes, an amused smile on her lips.

"Where do they usually report it from?" she asked, not even surprised anymore by the fact that he'd have such obscure knowledge.

"Bristol, Taos, Auckland" he listed.

"How do you…" she started to ask, shaking her head, but then a thought crossed her mind. "Is this connected to secret military base locations?"

"You're getting paranoid" he chuckled.

"You're making me paranoid" she retorted.

"Not every weird occurrence is because of the army" he sighed.

"I think you're trying to throw me off the trail here" she mock accused and chuckled as she heard him sigh again.

"When are you back?" he asked, and the restrained longing in his voice made her shiver.

"Thursday" she replied, smiling into the phone.

"Good" he said. "Try to get some sleep until then."

* * *

She'd been studying him quietly whenever she could. It was a difficult task, because he seemed to have some unnerving sense that made him notice her every time. He'd look at her questioning and she'd be forced to glance away embarrassed, or worse, admit she was blatantly staring.

They were out on one of their walks again, a joint pastime they both seemed to prefer, although she favored busy streets, while he was drawn to open spaces, parks and the river.

They were sitting on a bench, the early heatwave leaving the ground dry and dusty beneath their feet.

He caught her staring at his profile and he smirked barely noticeably.

"What?"

She blushed, having been caught and took a breath, letting the words tumble out of her mouth.

"Can I ask you a question?" she asked glancing at him again.

There was no response from him, his stare off into the distance undisturbed and she thought maybe he'd not heard her, nudging him gently.

"I'm thinking" he sighed with a quiet annoyance.

"About?" she asked, smiling as she felt his amusing frustration.

"Whether it's a good idea to let you ask questions" he murmured cynically.

"I'll settle for three" she bargained.

"Three?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Questions" she clarified.

"That's not how it…" he started to say, his mouth curling into a cynical smile.

"How did they pick you out for Delta?" she asked, her voice strong and rushed, cutting him off effectively.

He sighed, turning back to stare ahead at the lush green treetops of the park.

"You need a nomination for it, don't you? But what made them notice you?" she went on, seeing his reluctance.

"Is this all your three questions?" he asked, without turning back to her.

"You haven't even answered one" she rolled her eyes.

There was a moment of silence and she wondered if she'd have to retort to unethical ways of persuasion even though she knew if he didn't want to talk, although he would not protest, none of her otherwise obviously effective seduction techniques stood a chance.

"You have to have a certain mindset for it" he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the loose dirt beneath their feet.

"A mindset?" she asked, repeating the word to prompt him further.

"It helps if you don't have a lot of ties. A lot of things weighing you down. It helps if you're not always waiting for time to pass, waiting to finish something. You need patience for Delta. You need to be able to think, even when most people resort to instinct" he said, his words plentiful without saying much, she noted.

"Why isn't instinct good?" she asked about the most perplexing of the expressions.

"Everybody is guided by instinct. So it's predictable" he replied, glancing at her.

"Is that bad?" she asked.

He pondered for a moment, as if to best explain himself, then looked down again, drawing a line in the dirt with his shoe and then another squiggly one horizontally. He went on, drawing points across from the first line. She furrowed her brows trying to decipher the meaning of the strange blueprint.

"This is a city wall," he pointed to the original line running from their feet vertically, "this is the river, escape essentially," he continued, pointing to the squiggly line, "these are unfriendlies, armed" he gestured to the collection of dots inside the city walls, blocking the route towards the river.

"What do you do?" he asked, his face turning to her.

She looked up at him, then down at the drawing, thinking for a minute.

"Go along the wall, you are protected from one side, try to fight your way through?"

He nodded, looking down at the drawing in the dirt.

"That's instinct. You want to choose a protected setup. But it will get you trapped" he said, adding dots to the original drawing, slowly surrounding an invisible spot against the line representing the wall.

She looked up at him, a shiver passing through her.

"So?"

"If you act against instinct, go straight into the crowd… you aren't protected, but you aren't easily trapped. If they surround you, if they want to shoot you, they have to do it, against themselves, endangering their own. You have enemies everywhere, so you can shoot in any direction. In the end you'll have to fight through, but you have a bigger chance" he said as he drew a line from one side of the drawing towards the squiggly line representing the river.

He smoothed the dirt with his shoes, erasing the drawing and stood slowly, turning back to reach a hand out.

"Come on. I'm hungry."

"You haven't answered most of my questions, don't I get another two?" she protested.

"I did answer them" he said, his face calm as he looked back at her. She frowned in confusion.

"That's how I got noticed. I got a crew out of a situation like that" he said.

She looked at him, her shiver returning, this time penetrating under her skin, cooling the blood racing under the surface.

He reached for her hand, pulling her off the bench and she followed, concentrating on the heat radiating through his palm.


	8. Shouldn't come around here

Author's note: First of all, I am obsessed with the fact several husbands are benefiting from this fic in one way or another. I find that hilarious considering mine doesn't even know I'm writing this... Hehe.

Second, thank you all again for leaving me reviews. I love to hear what parts you liked and I'm really proud if something is believable (FYI: my research was mainly Google).

Third, even though I have this story written, I edit and rewrite constantly, but it has a tendency to take over my life, so I might speed up the publishing process (in other words: wish I spent this much time on my actual job).

Anyhoo, here is the next installment. Thank you all for reading!

* * *

"I need to go pick out pictures for my gypsy story" she informed him as he came out of her bathroom.

He had his briefs on and a white t-shirt. It was 2 pm on a Saturday and they hadn't left her bedroom yet.

"Do you need me to leave?" he asked, his voice unaffected.

"No. You can stay here, I'll be back... or..." she trailed off and he looked at her, brows furrowed.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked.

She took a breath, as if she were suddenly surfacing from underwater, the sounds harsh and overwhelming, the air almost painful as she fought for a breath. She felt an odd sense of clarity, realizing she had been immersed in the nearness of him, his presence overwhelming and numbing her senses to all else.

She was reminded of this feeling, this feeling of surrender and abandon, one that never lead to anything good in her life. Recognizing it now was a warning sign, red flags going off around her and she felt like all her thoughts were etched on her face as she waited looking up for an answer.

He was watching her, his face careful and she wondered if he was debating, like when they first started seeing each other. About the same feelings she was feeling, or something else entirely. She realized that she never saw him interact with anyone, an air of mystery surrounding him and a thought lodged into her brain about something she'd read about Delta operators and their secret identities. It wasn't that she had a lot of friends, confidants, but even so, literally no one knew of him in her life.

He spoke finally and what he said took her by surprise.

"Is that okay?"

She furrowed her brows lightly, her own deliberation and his cautious question mixing in her head into a sticky mass of insecurities.

"I just…" he started, walking up to her and sitting down next to her on the bed, continuing with his voice more hushed, as if he were telling her a secret, "I know I've been around a lot and I don't want you to think… I don't want to crowd you."

He finished, glancing up to study her eyes and she felt her mouth stretch into a grin as a relieved chuckle broke from her chest.

He looked at her questioning and she shook her head, excusing herself for her reaction.

"I'll let you know if I feel like I'm crowded" she said with a smile and she saw his face mirror hers.

"And I'll just figure out I'm crowding you by the fact I won't hear from you for a week" she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

His face conveyed a second of shock, before he sighed shaking his head.

"Also I might just disappear and you'll never be able to find anything tracing back to me" he countered as he got up walking back to the bathroom, her theories suddenly reinforced.

"Hey" she protested, the thought crossing her mind that the event he described wouldn't be entirely implausible.

"You were saying you need to go approve photographs" she heard him say as he reemerged, putting his shirt on.

"Yeah. My photographer lives about ten minutes away, he texted me that he has the stuff ready" she replied, barely able to hide her smile.

"Okay" he replied, looking around to find the rest of his clothes.

She was sipping her tea when he came out of her bedroom, fully dressed.

He walked over, smelling the cup she was holding and furrowing his brows.

"What is that?" he eyed the pink liquid in her cup.

"Strawberry cupcake tea" she replied.

"That's ridiculous... that's not an actual thing" he murmured.

She shrugged, downing the rest of the cooling liquid.

They stepped out onto the sunny street and she realized that it somehow turned into summer while she was preoccupied with him.

She felt him take her hand and it made her smile as he fell into step next to her. For any onlooker, they might have looked like an ordinary couple, she thought, out for a Saturday stroll.

She watched his movements from the corner of her eyes, his steps more fluid, more natural than she remembered. She had to try hard to recall what it was about his movements that seemed strange to her when she first saw him a couple of months ago, as the phenomenon was now virtually untraceable.

She pointed out things to him on the way and she studied his reactions. He was more at ease now when they were outside, but she never lost the feeling that he was always on the lookout.

It took them only about ten minutes to reach the apartment building and they were buzzed in quickly.

Rory pulled Tristan up the stairs and greeted her photographer as he opened the door for them.

She saw her brown, curly haired colleague falter for a second as he regarded Tristan with interest.

"This is Jimmy Nelson, my photographer. This is Tristan..."

"Knight" he cut her off, extending a hand to Jimmy.

Rory looked on slightly surprised.

"Tristan is... a friend of mine" she said, faltering for a second.

"Hey. It's James actually" the shorter guy said, shaking Tristan's hand.

Tristan nodded, letting Rory enter the apartment. He ignored Rory's confused gaze and she shrugged, turning to walk deeper inside the apartment.

"Wow, Jimmy, these are great" she exclaimed heading towards the large viewing table taking up most of the living room of the loft apartment.

She watched as Tristan walked silently behind them, looking at the photos hanging from the strings crisscrossing the left side of the apartment.

Jimmy had a state of the art home, the large windows equipped with shades that would essentially turn his living room into a darkroom.

She loved the atmosphere of the place and she loved to sit quietly in the corner, in the big and comfy armchair, watching Jimmy immersed in his work.

"I love the colors, especially these sunset lit ones" she said as she leaned over the photos laid out on a large table.

Tristan was walking around, more interested in the black and white photos hanging out to dry.

Jimmy moved closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Is this why you've been MIA lately?" he asked conspiratorially, his eyes on Tristan.

Rory smiled.

"I haven't been MIA" she shrugged.

"Please" Jimmy retorted, "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"That's not true" Rory whispered back.

"These are analogue?" Tristan's question stopped their whispering and they both turned towards him. Jimmy looked at him, his face showing interest.

"Yeah, I've got an old Leica, I always have it with me to shoot a few rolls. Such different atmosphere, you know?" the photographer said.

"Yeah, I can see what you mean" he replied, his hand reaching out to a photo that was obscured by another one. As he repositioned the pic gently, she realized it was a picture of her, a close up of her, black and white, her face in deep thought and her eyes catching the stark light of the setting sun.

"When did you take that?" she chuckled glancing at Jimmy, who was looking at Tristan.

She turned back to find the tall blonde staring at Jimmy, the two of them in some weird, silent stalemate.

Jimmy finally shrugged, breaking the weird stare-off.

"I guess, I took it one evening while you were listening to that old lady" he said, his words a quite mumble as he cleared his throat.

"So which ones do you think?" he walked to the table, ignoring Tristan, who was leaning against the sink on the left side of the room.

"I don't know. I guess it depends on who actually wants the article. The original publication passed on it. So now I'm shopping it around. I'm gonna send it out to some editors, but I'm not sure who's gonna pay for it" she mused out loud as she gently moved the pictures around, careful not to leave her fingerprints.

"Always nice to hear no foreseeable payoff for the invoices" he sighed cynically.

"Oh come on, you love it" she chuckled, nudging him gently. She glanced back at Tristan, still leaning against the sink, his eyes studying the two of them.

* * *

"Knight?" she asked, once they were out on the street.

"I use that mostly" he replied matter of factly.

She nodded, her theory about secret identities confirmed.

"Is that required for you?" she asked, carefully.

He sighed softly.

"It's easier that way" he replied and finished the topic, moving to walk in the direction of her apartment.

For a second she felt like she was back to their first meeting a couple of months ago, his presence mysterious and unyielding.

"Okay then, Mr. Knight. You wanna tell me what that whole thing was about?" she asked, as she caught up with him on the street. It was dark, the streetlights illuminating their way.

"What whole thing?" he asked, confused.

"That whole death stare you two were giving each other?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I wasn't giving him a death stare" he shrugged. His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were downcast, walking in slow strides next to her.

"Either that, or you two have serious chemistry, the air was practically crackling it was so charged in there" she went on, trying to lighten the mood.

He walked silently for a couple of steps, contemplating his answer.

"I guess, he doesn't like competition?" he murmured, tone slightly cynical.

"What?" she stopped, furrowing her brows.

He stopped, taking a deep breath and turning to face her.

"I'm guessing by the photographs of you in that place that he's been in love with you for the better part of the last couple of years, right?" he said gently, without accusation.

It made her choke on her breath.

He held her gaze, expression calm.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused "He's not... no. He's not... Is he?" she trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Jimmy was someone that was the single most persistent relationship in his life. She had met him after she started doing freelance and after a while they just synced up, working on projects together when she required a photographer. She had grown to like him because the guy seemed to know when to leave it alone, keeping his distance when she was in one of her moods, often sitting next to her silently for hours at airports. She had just always thought they were compatible and that's why it was easy for him to wait for her projects, but come to think of it, he never once refused her, as if he had been secretly waiting for her call.

"And the line of suitors grows longer" his musing broke her out of her thoughts and she looked up, seeing him resume his walk.

"Okay, that's... whatever" she scoffed, trying to keep up with him and seem nonchalant, even as the thought festered inside of her.

"Have you known him long?" he asked, tone still calm.

"I have been working with him for 5 years now, but we never... nothing happened" she said, trying to convince herself as much as him.

"He's not one of your hook ups?" he asked, his voice uncharged, but it made her defenses go up.

"Hey. You make it sound like I'm..." she shot back, but he raised his hand, breaking her off.

"I don't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm not in the position to..." he said, his voice apologetic.

"What are you in the position to do?" she interjected, suddenly frustrated.

He sighed, his finger reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Whatever you let me" he murmured.

She relaxed slightly, the tension in her chest dissipating.

"He's... he's not in love with me" she protested weakly.

He smiled, squinting lightly.

"Okay. But if he is, I can't really blame him" he murmured and turned to resume his walk.

She felt her face flush before a restrained smile spread on her face. She took a breath, shaking off the conversation and followed him back to her apartment.

* * *

She hadn't seen him in a couple of days but she did have a missed call a day prior and she figured it had been him.

Communication still wasn't his forte but she tried not to dwell on it because all other signs pointed to the fact that he was eager to see as much of her as he could.

She had resumed work reluctantly. The commissions were piling up and she had back to back trips for the last couple of weeks.

With his mysterious job and her constant traveling, their rhythm was rhapsodic at best, but when they did meet up, there was no awkwardness or holding back.

She had been returning from a meeting downtown when she found him on her doorsteps again.

"Let me buy you a phone. Like a burner phone. You can toss it every week if you'd like" she said, her voice exasperated.

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

She sat down next to him.

"You okay?" she asked, concerned, instantly feeling his strange mood.

"Yeah," he said, "you hungry?"

He was deflecting, she could tell by the way he didn't meet her eyes.

"Sure" she replied, joining him as he got up from the stairs.

They opted for Thai, two blocks over and she watched him after they'd placed their orders.

He was arranging his utensils, absentminded and she watched, debating whether she should try to learn what was bothering him.

"When is your evaluation?" she asked, out of the blue, intuition guiding her.

He froze for a moment, his finger tapping the chopsticks he had already unwrapped.

He didn't look up at her, but he answered her question.

"It was last week."

He didn't elaborate further and she felt her heart beat in her chest.

"And?" she pushed gently.

"Apparently, my diffusion capacity is still not a hundred percent" he said, his tone slightly cynical.

"What does that mean?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Some random number on a lung function test" he said, gesturing dismissively "it's pointless. I feel like it didn't even matter how I did."

"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling like she was repeating the same question.

"They... offered..." he trailed off. "They want me to... train" he started again, his attempt to finish his sentence fairing better.

"Train?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Other people" he added.

"In the army?" she asked.

"No" he sighed, his gaze dropping to the table again.

She looked at him confused, before realization dawned on her.

"It's a joint program. They want someone to do instruction for combat training for intelligence officers" he said, his fingers running through his hair absentminded.

"What? The CIA?" she asked, her tone hushed.

He didn't react, didn't even blink and somehow that made her even more certain she had been right.

She let the silence between them linger for a couple of seconds as she studied his face, his hand going to his mouth as he became immersed in his own thoughts.

"I take it you don't want that" she lamented.

He took a breath, finally looking up at her.

"It feels like... they're placating me" he said, his mouth in a frown.

"I think being appointed to a position like that in your thirties isn't a step down, Tristan" she pointed out, her voice incredulous.

"It feels like they think I'm done" he retorted, his voice showing emotion for the first time, albeit brief.

"No," she said, pausing to emphasize the point, "rather like you've done your duty and now they can use your expertise for something even more important."

"I'm being recycled. Like I'm broken and not good for what I was supposed to be good for" he said, his voice frustrated.

"What you were supposed to be good for?" she repeated the phrase, her tone unbelieving.

He nodded and she shook her head signaling she didn't follow his train of thought.

"All right. Let me ask you this. What is your purpose in society?" he leaned forward, looking at her.

"My purpose?" she asked, not understanding.

"Yeah. What role do you fill?" he said, his blue eyes trained on her.

"I am a writer. I inform people. I show them things they are not aware of" she shrugged, not really understanding the point of the exercise.

"Yes. I suppose you do. What would you do if they assigned you another role?" he asked.

"What other role?" she said, her brows furrowed.

"Some other role that is important in other aspects. But it's not writing?" he asked.

"So you don't feel fulfilled unless you can go and be in actual combat?" she retorted, her frustration shining through.

"I am a soldier. That's what I was trained for. I need to go and protect" he pointed to himself.

"This is mildly messianic, you are aware of that?" she asked, her tone cynical.

"So that society can function. So that mothers can raise families. So that workers can produce. So that artist can enrapture people" he went on unaffected by her response, his gestures slightly overdramatic and she wondered if she was seeing him unhinged for the first time.

"Alright. Do I fit in the artist slot or am I just an unproductive mother?" she said, rolling her eyes.

He quieted, as if the sudden outburst were that of someone else. He looked at the table between them, taking a breath before speaking again, his tone back to his usual calm one.

"If I can't fulfill that role, they can assign me another, but really I'm just someone who failed at the original purpose" he said, deflated.

"Tristan. The world doesn't work like that. This is what separates us from beasts. We adapt to changes and we have our own free will and we have rights and we don't just do what is good for society" she said with conviction.

"I might be oversimplifying" he murmured, his eyes dropping to his chopsticks again.

"Yes, you are oversimplifying. You are not just a number. You are not just a soldier that is now being discarded" she leaned forward, her hand reaching out to touch his. He looked up in surprise, her touch catching him off guard.

"Tristan, you are an individual. Irreplaceable. Which is why they want you" she went on, her voice pleading.

"That is a very romantic view" he said furrowing his brows.

"Where is this coming from? Is this some brainwashing that they do to you? You only matter if you fight until you die?" she asked, suddenly confused.

"There is no brainwashing, Rory" he replied, his voice defensive as he pulled his hand away.

"Then how can you believe that? You are more than that" she said, her voice pleading.

"This is what I am good at. This is what I am good for. This is my purpose" he shrugged, his pale blue eyes fixed on hers.

"I am sure there is other ways for you to feel useful. Other ways for you to feel like you count" she pointed out

"Like what they want me to do?" he asked, his tone cynical.

"Yes" she said, not understanding still.

"Why does it feel like I am being forced into something that will make me miserable then?" he asked.

She looked at him, her reasoning failing her and she watched the quiet hopelessness on his face.

"Would it be so horrible?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly defensive as she reclined in her chair, regarding him from a distance.

He looked up, sensing her hurt.

"I don't know" he said, resigned.

* * *

She woke with her heart pounding in her chest, strong arms squeezing her and she tried to slow her breathing as she heard him hush her gently.

"It's okay, it was a dream, Rory, you're okay" his voice came to her, calm and reassuring and she realized she was in her bed, her back against his chest as he held her.

She took a calming breath, her mind slowly becoming oriented, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room and the streetlight gently streaming in through the window.

A dream, she repeated to herself, closing her eyes to further calm herself.

She still felt the effects of it, her neck damp with sweat, her limbs flexed, her chest filled with anxiety, even as the specifics of the dream were slipping from her mind. When she closed her eyes she could still see the trees, numerous as they surrounded her and perhaps moving, growing closer. And throughout all, a voice, _her voice_ , calling to her as she tried to find a way though the forest. She opened her eyes, her teeth biting into her lower lip.

"You okay?" she heard him ask, his words careful.

"Yeah" she sighed, forcing a smile on her face even if he couldn't see her face.

"I'm sorry for waking you" she said, turning in his arm.

He studied her face, brushing the hair back from it and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch.

"What do you dream about?" he asked, his eyes concerned.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

"I don't remember."

He left it alone and she was thankful, burrowing her head into his chest and letting his quiet heartbeat guide her own calming one.

* * *

She sat at the bar, scanning her emails as she waited for him, taking a sip from her drink.

He'd been busy for days but sent her a message to meet up with her at this particular bar and she'd been sitting there for a good twenty minutes, her drink already halfway gone.

Waiting for him didn't feel frustrating though. If anything, she felt her excitement grow, her mind replaying the last time he spent the night the week prior. She'd had trouble falling back into sleep, her mind still a muddy mess from her dream and it seemed like he read her mind, because he took it upon himself to divert her attention, his mouth slow and languid as he brought her to the brink and had her linger there before letting her fall exhausted into ecstasy and then finally a dreamless sleep.

She blushed, remembering the feeling his mouth gave her and she took another sip of her drink, feeling her whole body hum gently in anticipation.

"Can I get a beer?" she heard his voice as she looked up in time to see him slide onto the stool next to her. "And a refill for the lady" he added.

He glanced at her only momentarily, but his eyes were dark, and she wondered if he saw through her facade, his mind reading her dirty thoughts like an open book.

She cleared her throat, taking a breath.

"I can get my own refills," she said, raising an eyebrow as she kept her voice steady, "besides, I'm waiting for someone."

He looked at her amused, realizing her game and leaned in, his voice quiet.

"He's a dumbass for keeping you waiting alone at a bar on a Friday night" he said, his tone making her stomach flutter as his eyes roamed her body.

"Why, what's gonna happen if I sit alone at a bar for a little while?" she asked, playing along.

"Some guy might get ideas" he retorted, nodding as the bartender slid him his beer and replaced her drink.

"What ideas?" she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.

His eyes met hers, the dimly lit room making his seem darker than she remembered them. His eyes darted to her mouth and she wet her lips instinctively.

"Like trying to lure you to a bathroom to fuck you senseless" he said, his eyes back to focusing on hers. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and she watched him taking a casual sip from his beer and rearinging himself on the stool, moving closer to her as he leaned in.

She felt a thrill at his words but she also rolled her eyes.

"You think I have that effect on guys?" she asked, her tone cynical.

"Have you seen your face, Mary?" he asked as he looked her in the eye once again, his voice deep.

She felt her breath catch and she turned to take a sip from her fresh drink, the alcohol burning its way down her throat.

"So this was your game, back in the day?" she asked skeptically, her voice shaking lightly.

He chuckled.

"Is it not working for you?" he asked, his eyes softening.

She squinted, her mouth twisting as she pretended to think, the exaggerated gestures masking her quiet excitement.

"I'd assumed you'd be smoother" she said, her tone teasing.

"Yeah?" he asked, setting the beer on the bar and turning towards her, spinning her around to face him while he moved her legs and pulled her closer, his knee lodging in between her parted legs under her loose skirt.

She gasped as he moved his face closer, his mouth touching the side of her face as he whispered into her ear.

"Let me show you how smooth I can be, if I try" he said, moving her hand to his lap and letting her feel his hardness.

"This," he whispered, tracing her hand against his length, "is a combination of fantasizing about you for the past five days, seeing you sitting here in that dress, and me having imagined how I'm going to lift it up while I hold you up with one hand and proceed to move to rub you with the other."

She bit her lip, holding her breath as her heart pounded in her chest, waiting for him to go on.

"See, I'll need you to be dripping, if I'm gonna fuck you while you're perched on top of me in the restroom."

"You enjoy sex in public places?" she asked, a little out of breath as she pulled back to be able to look at him.

"It means I have to forgo hearing you scream, but also… I'll be cumming inside you in about four minutes" he said, glancing at his watch.

She shook her head, incredulous.

He looked at her, his gaze challenging, before moving and helping her off her stool.

"I'll meet you in the restroom" he said, turning back to his beer.

She felt her feet move, a stupid grin on her face and her heart racing.

She reached the restroom, one of two rooms, thankfully with a functioning door. She walked into the one that looked to be vacant and she gasped as she felt him slide in after her, his hand quickly shutting the door and locking it.

He spun her around and lifted her, balancing her on his leg that he put on the toilet seat, his hand already going under her skirt and pulling her panties aside, as his other one went to the back of her neck.

"You are crazy" she whispered, as she offered her neck to him, his lips skimming the delicate skin there.

"You wanted to imagine what I was like?" he whispered. "It was never like this, because I never wanted to fuck someone as much as I want you."

She felt his finger circle her, skillful and feather like with just enough pressure to make a quiet sob break from her lips. She closed her eyes, the place, the sounds, the location forgotten as she concentrated on his fingers and his voice, a soft murmur against her neck.

"Fuck, you're already wet. You like it when I touch you, don't you?"

She moaned, her hands going to his belt blindly.

He turned them suddenly, her back slamming up against the wall as he wrapped her legs around his waist. His hand left her and reached back to his pocket, fishing out a condom that he slid into her hand.

"I'll need you to contribute, Mary" he whispered, his voice melodic and sinful and she obliged, concentrating on opening the foil and then sheeting him.

He groaned, his forehead resting against hers as her hands smoothed the rubber over him and he was sliding into her instantly, his one hand around her waist, while the other one moved to cover her mouth to muffle the moans breaking from her.

He held her weight without much effort, sliding her away and back onto him with a quickening pace, his face buried in her neck as he continued to talk to her.

"Do you know how good you feel? I'd fuck you anywhere you'd let me."

She loved his voice, his words making her crazy with want and she felt herself clench around him with every thrust.

"God, you're already coming for me, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a deep growl. "Aren't you?"

"Yes" she hissed as she felt his hand reach down to gently circle her clit.

She felt lightning shoot through her, his mouth moving to kiss her to swallow her cries and she grasped his arms, convulsing hard as her orgasm tore through her.

She clamped down on him, making his thrusts go rigid as he groaned against her mouth, his release pulsing deep inside of her as he pulled her impossibly close.

She panted hard, her eyes opening to stare into his, his pupils dilated as he was trying to calm his own breathing.

"Four minutes, as promised" he whispered, his voice hoarse and she chuckled, her own hands going up to her mouth to quiet herself.

* * *

A little while later they were walking towards her apartment, their hands clasped in each other's as her body was still elated. Friday night was in full swing at the bars they passed, but she mentally calculated the distance to her place, ready to fall into bed with him and possibly do it all over again with more time and less worries about the amount of noise they'd make.

She felt an arm reach out to her and stop her and she looked up, recognizing an old acquaintance.

"Hey Jonah" she smiled, letting the burly guy pull her into a hug, her hand slipping from Tristan's.

"Hey Rory, how have you been?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with what she realized must have been a couple of beers already.

She turned around, seeing Tristan wait patiently.

"This is Jonah Wyle. Jonah has a blog, he writes articles analyzing political statements and fact-checks them. I saw you got named best political blog by the Times. That's pretty impressive" she said in one breath, her rambling masking her discomfort.

"Says the girl who got a Pulitzer straight out of the gate" Jonah said, winking at her.

"It's nice to meet you" Tristan stepped forward, extending his hand.

"Tristan is a friend of mine" Rory said awkwardly.

"Hey man, a friend of Rory's is a friend of mine. You guys want a round?" Jonah said, turning to the bar behind him.

Rory glanced at Tristan.

"Sure" he said, guiding Rory to follow her friend.

They stood by the bar, and Rory stole a glance, regarding Tristan curiously. He had the most bullet proof of poker faces, neither their prior activities or his current opinion regarding the impromptu social encounter showing on his face. She wondered if he minded meeting people from her life, but his easy demeanor soothed her fears and he focused on Jonah instead.

"What are you working on nowadays, Jonah?" she asked as Jonah handed her and Tristan a bottle each.

"Ah, this and that. I've been writing a series of exposes about refunding practices of recent administrations" he said.

"That must ruffle some feathers" she said as she sipped her beer.

"Like you wouldn't believe" he sighed.

"How about you, Gilmore? When can I get you to get back on politics? Rory used to contribute quite a bit back when she was one of us, walking the earth" Jonah said, glancing conspiratorially towards Tristan who watched their interaction with a polite smile.

"Alright, Jonah" Rory hushed him.

"No seriously, Rory, don't you get tired of being the star reporter? Don't you want to settle down and get threatended by every single congressman when you try to fact check them?" Jonah asked, chuckling.

"Well, reading your site makes my palms itch for sure. I liked that article last month about military funding" she replied, keeping her gaze on her conversation partner even as she felt Tristan's eyes glance at her.

"Yeah, that's interesting isn't it? Unfortunately, them army boys are pretty tight lipped" Jonah mused.

"Yeah?" she asked, glancing at Tristan. He was standing to the side, strategically dipping his head back to take a sip from his beer and not meeting her eyes.

"Yeah. It's impossible to find someone that has insider knowledge and that point of view. I need like a consultant that will explain how all that shit works, but that's the thing, people who are willing to talk are all batshit crazy. And those that are smart and would be able to explain why shit happens, they refuse to talk to me" Jonah went on, clearly immersed in his monologue.

"Huh" Rory said, this time not daring to glance at Tristan.

She saw him move from the corner of her eye, reaching to his pocket and checking his pager.

She eyed him wearily.

"I gotta go make a call, I'll be right back" he said, slipping from his spot.

She nodded and watched as he crossed the street.

"He a drug dealer?" Jonah asked and she chuckled.

"Yeah, cocaine" she deadpanned.

"Nice" Jonah chuckled.

* * *

She went to check on him a little while later, half expecting him to be gone, but she saw him talking on a payphone about half a block up the street.

She approached him just as he hung up, his face indifferent.

"Do you have to go?" she asked, his tone resolute.

"No," he shook his head, "what the hell are you doing, Rory?"

She was caught off guard by his sudden question, but more so his tone, quiet, but still chilling and she looked at him bewildered, but knowing full well what he was referring to.

"Nothing. I ran into an old friend, I'm having a conversation" she said, her eyes darting everywhere but him.

"Right. A completely natural conversation, no hidden agenda or anything" he retorted, his voice quieter but somehow even more menacing.

"What's your problem?" she asked, her tone defensive.

"My problem is your transparent attempt to …" he trailed off scoffing, "I don't know… Did you think you'd make me this guy's informant? You couldn't get me to talk and trust me, you have a lot more going for you than that guy" he pointed out.

"Okay, easy there, tiger. I didn't want you to be an informant" she said, raising her voice, then looking around nervously.

"Then what?" he asked.

"I don't know, is that really such a strange thought? For you to think about what else you could do? You could write think pieces. Explain military jargon. You know he is right, there is so much fucking mystery surrounding you guys, but when you explain stuff to me, it makes sense" she argued, her ramble unstoppable. "Like last week, you explaining patrols" she said and he looked at her with a lost expression.

"What are you talking about" he asked, his voice annoyed.

"We were watching the news about that shooting and I said 'Why do they even send police foot patrols to these neighborhoods, where they know it's just taunting the people there?' and you likened it to the way patrols are done in war zones… They are dangerous, but if you don't show your presence, don't show your constant vantage to consolidate and stabilize, then you risk unrest which often takes bigger efforts to contain?" she finished her rant and he looked at her baffled.

"That's great, Rory, that's awesome that you think I have convincing arguments. That doesn't mean that's my life's calling. You want me to teach military 101 to people by writing a blog?" he asked and when he said it out loud like that, she felt silly, defeated.

"I want you to do something you find fulfilling. Going back and killing yourself isn't the only way" she sighed, her hands going up to rub her eyes.

She regretted her expression instantly, seeing his face turn from angry to worried and hurt.

"Rory, I'm not… Is that what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer to her as his voice lowered.

"I am worried" she sighed, looking back up at him.

He nodded, his nostrils flaring lightly as he regarded her.

"I like having you around" she said, as though she were admitting something embarrassing.

"You are gone two weeks out of a month, Rory" he pointed out, without reproach, but leaving her innocuous nevertheless.

"I know, but when I come home, I like you around" she said helplessly, knowing how selfish and ridiculous she sounded.

He nodded again, dropping his gaze on the ground.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, stepping closer to him, ready to finish the argument.

"I don't want to cause you pain" he said and it caught her off guard, his tone indicating he'd seamlessly transferred to another argument, wholly different from the one they were having and something that made the blood in her veins turn instantly cold.

"What does that mean?" she asked, the uncertainty crawling at her chest.

"If that's what you want… having someone around when you come back. I'm not sure I can give you that" he said, looking at her, his jaw tensing.

She looked at him, her insides twisting with quiet horror as though the ground had been pulled from beneath her.

"Hey, don't twist my words, okay?" she said, the quiet panic inside her making her move even closer to him, their bodies touching.

"I'm not trying to twist your words" he pleaded, looking at her intently.

"That's not what I want! You know that's not what I want" she gestured, her voice bordering on frantic. She took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself before she spoke again.

"Look, I see you struggling with this and all I'm saying is if you can't go back, it's not the end of the fucking world, okay? There's other things in life, other things to do, other things to make you happy" she said, trying desperately to regain her footing.

"And if you can go back, then whatever" she shrugged, trying to make her words as nonchalant as possible, but failing miserably.

He looked at her, his expression so worried she had to look away, self conscious.

She didn't know how they had gotten here, from being reckless and free, to questioning the validity of their relationship within a couple of hours. It filled her with dread.

"Can we fucking backtrack here?" she asked, closing her eyes and releasing a tense breath and when she opened her eyes, his face was calm as he nodded. She wondered if he'd felt that same dread.

He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer.

"Okay. I'm sorry" he said.

"I'm not trying to push you to do anything" she murmured, letting him pull her into a hug.

"I know" he said, kissing the top of her head, his voice apologetic.

She held onto him, happy for his embrace, even as the remains of the argument still lingered inside of her chest, the familiar ache of fears unresolved settling there.


	9. Singing up at people

Author's note: As promised, a new update for you already!

We are only just getting started with this story, but I love how I'm already getting subtle threats about these two.

Thank you for your words and a special shout out to jordana60: your review is very touching, thank you for sharing. It seems like maybe you have some experience regarding this subject?

* * *

Getting messages from him became something she was getting used to. He liked them short and emotionless, like this last one on her voicemail that told her to come see him at his place after she got back from her short trip to New York.

It was early afternoon on a Saturday and she felt curious as she entered the row of apartment buildings, her summer dress blowing in the warm wind coming from the river.

She spotted him putting a duffel bag into a car she didn't even know he had, in front of his apartment and she looked at him perplexed.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, making her voice light, trying to mask the uncertainty suddenly taking residence in her chest.

He turned to look at her, taking a deep breath as he closed the trunk and leaned back against his car.

She felt uneasy, but his soft expression upon seeing her face, his mouth moving into a slow smile, calmed her.

"I have something I've been putting off for a while" he said carefully.

She didn't say anything, not wanting to push for him to elaborate. She knew the feeling well enough, things waiting in a neat little row at the back of her head in some ignored corner, patiently nagging at her soul.

"I thought maybe you could come with me" he said, more a statement than an inquiry, as he pushed himself off the car and walked up to her, his hand reaching out to tangle his fingers into hers.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Come with you?" she repeated his expression, skeptical whether that's really what he wanted, given his strange behavior.

He ran his other hand through his hair, his eyes glancing around as if he were debating whether this was a good idea or not.

"You can't ask questions" he stated quietly.

"So tempting" she deadpanned as she squinted, studying him intently.

He looked at her and there was something in his expression that unnerved her. Was he... afraid? Was it possible for him to be afraid of something?

"Okay" she shrugged hiding the curiosity that stirred within her.

He seemed relieved and thankful, a small smile appearing on his lips.

"Do I get to know how far it is? I mean do I need a toothbrush?" she asked with mock annoyance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"We can get you a toothbrush" he replied smiling.

"Fair enough" she said, walking past him to get into the passenger seat of the old Charger.

* * *

They had been riding for hours, traveling through Virginia without stopping, the early summer weather making the colors vivid.

She found him a calm driver, his turns and stops seamless, which helped with her anxiety that she experienced every time she got into a passenger seat.

He listened to an oldies station and she found this amusing and endearing at the same time. She had a full blown panic attack when Running Against the Wind came on because Luke used to love that song, but she breathed through it quietly, her hands clutching the seat belt until her fingers felt numb. She didn't think he noticed. He seemed to be lost in his own special kind of hell.

His grip on the wheel was tight. He checked the rear view mirror obsessively as if they were being followed, but they were on some back country road and they hadn't seen a car for hours.

They had stopped for gas and when he came back from paying, he handed her a toothbrush without a word.

It was dusk already when they entered North Carolina. Somehow he seemed even more anxious, his anxiety growing as they traveled more south and culminating when they entered a small town named Henderson. She tried to concentrate on him instead of the fact that the picturesque houses and white picket fences made her own stomach churn.

He slowed the car as he concentrated on reading the street signs, finally turning on Montgomery.

"I don't know how this is gonna go" he said, his voice hoarse and she was startled realizing they hadn't spoken for hours.

She turned to him, studying his face but not asking anything, his strange anxiety seeping into her body as well.

"I should have done this a long time ago, but... I didn't" he went on.

She listened with her breath held and realized he had stopped the car in front of a house.

It was old and worn, but the garden out front was full of lilies in bloom. She smelled their strong fragrance and looked up as she heard gurgling laughter coming from the porch. The source was a beautiful girl, about 6 years old, wearing shorts and a rainbow colored top, her hair in intricate braids. Her skin was a beautiful dark chocolate and she giggled as the small dachshund in front of her placed a ball at her feet.

She heard Tristan get out of the car and close the door behind him and the little girl looked up, the dog barking as it faced the newcomers.

"Knight!" the little girl squealed in delight and took off running towards Tristan.

"Susie, look at you" he said and the little girl threw herself into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly and let the girl hug him.

"Mom" she heard a young boy call out, a good couple of years older than the girl. She looked towards the house, seeing a tall, skinny kid with the same eyes as the girl's stand in the doorway.

"Knight is here" he said to someone inside the house, his face indifferent in a way that only preadolescent boys' could be.

"What?" a tall, strikingly beautiful woman came out from the house holding a crying baby and she froze as her gaze landed on Tristan. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, tendrils falling around her face. Her dark eyes shone with an indescribable strength, even as her face twisted into a pained expression.

"Hey Charlotte" Tristan greeted the woman, his words soft as he stood frozen in her sight.

"Oh my god," she whispered, "Matthew, take your sister."

The boy took the wailing bundle from her mother and she walked down the stairs of the porch, her sight not leaving Tristan.

"We thought you were dead" she said, her voice a throaty whisper as she shook her head slightly.

Tristan let the little girl slide from his hold to the ground, facing the woman.

"I'm sorry Charlotte, I should have called you..." he said, his voice pleading.

She crashed into his arms, her trembling fingers feeling his arms and torso as though she were seeing a ghost.

"Thank god, you are alive" she sobbed, squeezing him tightly into her arms.

He looked shocked for a second, before his arms returned her hug, the two of them clinging to each other silently.

Rory felt self conscious, as though she were intruding on something private, something sacred.

"They said the whole squad was gone except for you, but that you were very hurt. We haven't heard anything since. I talked to Alice and Jane" she rambled.

"I know. I was the only one. I was sick for a long time" he murmured, his voice low, broken.

"But I should have come sooner" he pulled away slightly, to look at her. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, her tears streaming down her elegant face.

"You're alive" she whispered.

She looked at him, studying his face, her own eyes a dark storm of emotion.

"Matthew" she called out as she turned towards the house and Rory followed her line of sight, but the boy with the baby was gone, no doubt disappearing inside.

"I'm sorry, he's been taking it hard" she whispered, wiping her eyes.

"My god, you look thin" she reached out, composing herself and redirecting her attention to Tristan, her fingers caressing his face.

"Are you alright?" she took him in, her eyes tracing his full body.

"I'm fine" he said, clearing his throat and furrowing his brow, "it's... I'm fine."

Rory felt uneasy as she quietly opened the car door and slipped out of the front seat.

Tristan looked at her, smiling a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Charlotte..." he called softly, "... this is my girlfriend, Rory."

Her breath caught in her chest as she watched him looking at her intently.

The woman snapped her head up, her gaze focusing on Rory.

"What now?" she laughed, wiping her eyes, "I think this might be the bigger shock than the fact you're alive" she chuckled.

She let go of Tristan and walked over to Rory, a smile spreading on her striking face.

"I'm Charlotte" she said, shaking Rory's hand. "I'm sorry for how I must look."

"No, I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head, "I don't mean to impose."

"Knight, she's gorgeous" Charlotte said, turning back to glance at Tristan before she turned back to Rory.

"Yeah, I don't like to tell her, because it goes to her head" he murmured, his tone back to the calm voice he usually used.

"Oh Knight, you haven't changed" she scolded, her arm reaching out to her little girl.

"Come on now, introduce yourself to our guest" she urged the girl who gaped at Rory with a curious expression.

"I'm Susie" the little girl said, stepping up to Rory.

Rory scooted down to come to face level with her.

"Hey Susie," she said shaking her hand, "I'm Rory."

The little girl giggled as if this were the most hilarious introduction ever.

"Please, come inside" Charlotte said, turning towards the house. "Matthew, where are you?"

Rory watched as Charlotte made her way up the porch, then looked at Tristan who was studying her face.

"Come on" she felt Susie tug at her hand and she let her lead her towards the house.

"I'm gorgeous?" she asked in a low voice as she passed Tristan.

"See what I mean about it going to your head?" he replied without missing a beat.

She smiled, reveling in the moment and continued to tease him.

"I'm your girlfriend" she mouthed, looking back at him, eyebrows raised.

"Either that, or you're a really cheap call girl" he sighed.

* * *

She watched from the kitchen as Tristan sat by the table in the den, the baby on his shoulder, sleeping soundly. He was playing cards with Susie, the little girl too excited to sit.

The house was a warm mess, scattered toys everywhere. She saw a lot of pictures, a bunch of Charlotte's late husband, she figured. He was a tall, muscular, handsome man, always laughing in pictures with an infectious grin. There were framed photos of guys in army uniforms and one that caught her eyes for long minutes, with Tristan and Charlotte's husband standing next to each other, a third tall lanky guy completing the trio, their arms around each other. Tristan's face was young in the picture, more like she remembered it from Chilton, but his hair was short, his blue eyes squinting in the bright desert light.

She looked at him now, his hair longer, his face more grown up, but his eyes the same. He chuckled as Susie showed him her winning hand.

"He's great with kids" Charlotte said to her and she smiled embarrassed, caught staring.

She turned back to cutting up vegetables for a salad, a task she had offered to take over from Charlotte to help her with dinner.

"I haven't seen Daniel sleep that sound in days" Charlotte sighed wistfully.

"Daniel? That's a nice name" Rory said, glancing back towards the baby in Tristan's arm.

"Yeah, I named him after his dad" she said, taking a deep breath. "He didn't like the idea of passing down names, but after he was gone, I just felt like I had to honor him."

She nodded. She felt her stomach tighten, slowly piecing the information together.

Charlotte's husband was in Delta with Tristan, one of the casualties of the crash he had survived more than a year prior.

She wondered what it must have been like for Charlotte to get that call, with two small children and one more on the way, to find out your husband was never coming home.

"This must be... You are incredibly strong" she said, her voice breaking.

"Yeah? What gave you that idea? Me bursting into tears or the chaos this house is in?" Charlotte asked, her tone light, but her eyes sad.

Rory kept her gaze on her as the woman's face smoothed into an ever present smile, her lean arms moving quickly to prepare the dinner. She felt a strange sense of camaraderie with this woman and she felt herself speak before she could stop herself.

"Do you... have help?"

She felt silly for the question as soon as it was out of her mouth, but either Charlotte didn't find it intruding or she hid her reaction well, because she continues her task without any pause.

"Oh yeah, my parents moved here, and my sister is two towns over. Also an army wife. I feel like it's too much help sometimes, you know?" she added, glancing at Rory with a smile, her tone playful.

Rory smiled politely even as she found it hard to believe.

"How is Knight doing? Tristan, I mean?" Charlotte asked her, her eyes returning to Tristan rocking the baby gently as he fussed in his arms.

"He's... okay, I guess" Rory said, glancing towards him.

"We tried to find out how he was, after we heard he was the only one to survive the crash but... you know how it is with them, they're not allowed to talk about them unless you're family... and he didn't have anyone, so there was no one to ask. We'd just assumed…" Charlotte murmured, her face lost in thought as she trailed off.

She felt the heaviness in her chest, Charlotte's words making sense but still talking about thinks she had no first hand knowledge of.

"I can't imagine what he must have gone through" Charlotte whispered and Rory felt her throat constrict as she watched Tristan.

"I'm glad he found you, you must have helped a lot with all this" Charlotte turned, shaking her reverie and looking at Rory with a smile.

She shrugged humbly.

"I don't think so. I mean I only just met him a couple of months ago. He is remarkably balanced. Incredibly calm and focused. He wants to go back you know?" she said.

Charlotte smiled a knowing smile.

"Can't say I'm surprised" she said, her tone bittersweet. "He's Delta, through and through."

Rory looked at her and then at Tristan again, absorbing the quite acceptance that Charlotte exuded despite her world being turned upside down a little over a year ago. She wondered for a second if it was this Tristan had wanted her to see. Resilience. Acceptance. Something he must have assumed Charlotte would have even without speaking to her since that tragedy that altered both their lives. That sort of certainty must have had a basis.

"You ready for that?" Charlotte asked her, her eyes studying her and she looked back at her, shaken from her thoughts.

"I'm... I don't know if... I'm not sure we're there yet" she shook her head, focusing on the cutting board again.

"Him going back or you finding a way to deal with that?" Charlotte asked and Rory had to concentrate to keep her movements unaffected, her eyes not moving from the cutting board.

"I'm not sure I'm important enough to have to think about finding a way" she murmured.

"Girl, he brings you to the house of his dead squad member? It's serious" Charlotte chuckled, nudging her in a friendly manner as she chuckled, taking the chicken out of the oven.

Rory looked at her with an uneasy smile.

"Sorry, sad widower humor, don't mind me" she shrugged.

"You're fine" Rory smiled wearily.

* * *

"I don't have pajamas" she whispered coming out of the bathroom.

They were in the guest bedroom of Charlotte's house, the premises quiet after Tristan had helped put the kids to bed.

"Here" he said, his voice quiet, reaching down to his duffel bag and handing her a t-shirt from it before he laid back down on the bed.

"Thank you" she whispered as she discarded her dress and put on the soft cotton T-shirt.

"You liking the show?" she asked when she realized he'd watched her every move.

"Hmmm" he hummed as she slid under the covers next to him. His hands went to her hips, pulling her close to him, as though the single bed would allow her to distance herself from him at all.

"You're being great" he said, his voice a deep rumble.

"Great pretending, I don't mind not having clean underwear?" she asked, keeping her voice a low whisper.

"Great at not asking questions" he verified.

"I bet that blew your mind a bit" she deadpanned.

"I appreciate it" he said, with genuine emotion.

She sighed, taking his praise but also feeling like it was a bribe to keep her from wanting to know more.

"That's what you asked for" she whispered, defeated.

She looked into his eyes, but he was seemingly tired, his lashes closing over his pale blue eyes even as he spoke.

"You can have two" he murmured and she felt a smile spread on her lips.

"Two what?" she whispered back, already grinning.

"Two questions" he said and she bit her lip to keep herself from letting out a chuckle.

She took a breath, her mind jumping from question to question while he rested his eyes.

She finally settled on a question and she focused on his face, calm as he waited for her questions.

"Why do they call you Knight? Is it because of Tristan?" she finally asked and he opened his eyes as if he'd been stirred from sleep.

He smiled, brushing hair back from her face.

"I guess. Although that gives a bunch of army brats a lot of credit literature wise" he chuckled.

"Is there another story to it?" she urged him.

"Yeah, I guess. I got it when I joined the Stalkers. We had a good run in the first couple of missions. I had a knack for finding injured guys. The commander said I was their good luck charm. The others started joking I was a knight in shining armor" he said, his eyes closed again and his voice a comfortable murmur.

"That's cute" she whispered.

"Yeah, every rookie's dream, to be cute" he opened one eye to regard her, his tone cynical.

"Why do you think you're good at finding injured guys?" she asked, hoping this didn't count as her second allotted question.

"I'm not sure" he furrowed his brows, his eyes closing again.

"I'm good with noise. Good with directions. Good with chaos. I make sense of it. That's the main part I guess" he trailed off and she watched his face become peaceful.

She held her breath for a second as she studied her, a question nagging at her.

"Why didn't you come see them before?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, not really knowing if she wanted him to hear the question at all.

There was silence for a long time before he took a deep breath making her realize he was still awake.

"I don't know why he died and why I stayed alive. I knew she wouldn't blame me. But I'll never stop blaming myself" he said, eyes still closed.

Her heart constricted and she moved even closer to him, aligning her body with his, her hands snaking around him.

He tucked her under his chin, pulling her softly with him as he turned towards his back, his body relaxing into sleep.

She laid there, her ear on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart for a long time before she could quiet her thoughts enough to join him.

* * *

"You really don't have to help with this" Charlotte said as Rory stood over the sink washing the many plates from the breakfast of pancakes they'd just consumed.

"That's okay" she shrugged smiling.

She actually enjoyed the task as she listened to Charlotte help Susie with her homework while Daniel slept in his crib.

She could see Tristan through the window over the sink, working on cutting down a tree. He'd been making a wedge, carefully engineered so the fall of the tree would avoid the swing set that was set up a little to the right.

"Danny always said that tree was going to have to be cut down. I kept hoping it would survive, but this spring was the final proof it didn't."

She nodded thinking of Tristan this morning and how he studied the tree for a long time before declaring it was unsafe and that he'd go out to cut it.

Matthew regarded him from the protection of the back porch but he'd been out for an hour now, watching Tristan's every move.

"So you're a reporter, that must be very exciting" Charlotte said as Rory came to sit down next to her, wiping her hands with a washcloth.

"Yeah, it's very exciting. A lot of travel" she smiled nodding.

"What stories do you usually write?" Charlotte asked.

"I started in politics. I worked as a White House correspondent for a while. Now I'm freelance and I write about everything really" Rory said, shrugging lightly.

"Oh wow. Why did you switch gears?" she asked.

Rory shrugged again, not feeling her usual panic for when she had to share the reason.

"I always dreamed about traveling for stories. Seeing them as they actually happened. Experiencing them" she explained. "And I suddenly felt like there was nothing holding me back, so I tried it."

She felt Charlotte's eyes on her and she wondered what she was thinking. She wondered what she herself would be thinking, if she'd hear this line of reasoning from someone else. Of what the reason for such a change could be. A bad review? She laughed inwardly at the old memory. A failed relationship? She knew it seemed like the most probable explanation. She glanced at Charlotte, her eyes studying her and her face showing compassion. She seemed like a wise woman, her eyes seeing everything and her face showing nothing.

She wondered if grief recognized grief, if people understood each other without having to speak, having to explain. She felt a warm surge of gratitude towards this woman, so strong despite the heavy hand she'd been dealt and she felt her eyes cloud as Charlotte squeezed her hand before turning back to Susie's homework.

There was a sudden warning yell from Tristan and they all turned toward the window hearing Matthew squeal and shout in delight.

A moment later there was a loud sound, the foundation of the house shaking slightly as the dried out oak crashed to the ground.

Susie jumped off her chair racing outside and they joined her to find a sweaty and smiling Tristan and an exhilarated Matthew still holding on to the ax.

"Master Sergeant DuGray, you did not just let my 12 year old wield an axe" Charlotte scolded with obvious attitude, but her warm smile was ever present on her face.

Rory smiled as well, the joy of seeing Matthew happy for the first time since they'd arrived filling her with a quiet calmness.


	10. What you gonna do about it

Author's note: Thank you all again for the lovely reviews. Grateful fan, I've never been in competition with myself before, lol! jordana60, your review made me quite emotional, thank you! All the others who squealed because of "girlfriend", I've got some squeal worthy things in here too. But also... dun dun dun... some drama!

Come on, I know you want it!

* * *

She stood in the chilly air, the Himalayan Mountains a formidable echo in the distance as she watched the nearby hills roll themselves into darkness. Where she could see the outlines of the trees only minutes ago, the canopy now blurred together, the forest bathing in the last of the colorful rays of the sunset still lingering.

She had been conducting interviews, but had to excuse herself, anxiety suddenly gripping her chest.

She concentrated on her breathing, counting to herself, like she usually did when she felt the ground slip from under her. She was standing behind the wooden house perched near the cliff, drawn from the inside by a strange pull. She had been listening to three generations of women talk about a way of life that seemed particular but natural too and suddenly she felt the weight, she felt the rush of clarity regarding this trip, regarding this story that she seemed to pursue without thinking of the potential repercussions.

She had been foolish, thinking that a story about the Mosuo women, ones guided by a matriarchal way of life, would leave her soul unstirred. The slowly calming anxiety in her chest was clear proof.

She finished her counting, getting to 112, her usual number of choice, but she felt her chest constricting instantly as she abandoned her calming task and let her mind wander elsewhere.

She closed her eyes, restarting the counting. 

* * *

They walked down her street hand in hand and she did a double take as she saw the blonde sitting on her steps.

Tristan looked at her and then followed her line of sight to watch the man rise slowly to meet them.

"Logan, what are you doing here?" she asked perplexed, wrecking her brain trying to think of the last time she'd heard from him. It had certainly been a while, since her scarce replies seemed to have sent him a clear message. At least she'd thought so up until now.

"Hi, I'm Logan Huntzberger" Logan extended a hand toward Tristan, eyes twinkling with that ever present sparkle, a slightly smug expression on his face from his vantage point up on the stairs.

Rory knew the look well, the easy demeanor that Logan exuded rarely other than a well-orchestrated show, with endless complex and calculated moves performed in the background.

She sighed wearily watching as Tristan took Logan's extended hand, glancing at her briefly before introducing himself.

She noted he used his real name and not Knight, perhaps instantly putting two and two together, his Hartford past making it near impossible to glide by as a no one with no past.

As if on cue, Logan arched an eyebrow. "DuGray?" he asked. "From Hartford?"

"Not for a while now" Tristan replied with a tight smile.

Rory looked on in a haze, as though everything was happening at once and she was locked behind a glass wall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, furrowing her brows as her mouth finally caught up to her mind.

Logan slowly turned his attention to her from sizing up Tristan.

"I was in town for business, thought I'd come see what kept you so busy nowadays, Ace" he replied using her moniker, his face in an easy smile, but she felt the hidden meaning, the light accusation.

"You guys busy? Let me buy you a drink" Logan said, already descending the stairs and looking around, making it clear his offer wasn't really a question.

She felt her whole inside protest, but Tristan pulled on her hand lightly and the next thing she realized they were walking next to each other, like the world's most awkward three person party.

They went to the bar a block from her place, the tables still empty in the early summer evening and she seated herself, her mind still in a daze.

Logan ordered a scotch for himself and a vodka martini for Rory and she noted he didn't ask her what she wanted, knowing her drink of choice quiet well. She felt Tristan's eyes flash dangerously as he declared he only wanted water.

"So, what do you do, Tristan, is it?" Logan asked, regarding the tall blonde man sitting across from him. Rory felt uneasy. She knew that tone, she knew that placating smile, and the ways a conversation like this could turn quickly.

Tristan seemed to be relaxed by her side, but she somehow still felt a nervous energy flutter in the depths of her stomach.

"Yeah" he replied, his tone calm.

Rory watched as the two men eyed each other from across the table, the air charged.

"I'm a contractor. I work in the Middle-East mostly" he replied and Rory squinted momentarily, keeping herself from staring at Tristan.

"Oh" Logan said, his eyebrows shooting up as he glanced towards Rory.

She was thankful for the drink that had arrived, ducking in order to keep her face from revealing too much.

"You must travel a lot" Logan went on, his eyes back on Tristan.

"Yeah. It's a little unpredictable, but it's good money" Tristan replied.

"I bet" Logan said as he took his own sip from his drink. "How did you come about doing that?" he asked, squinting as he swallowed the liquor.

"I was in the army for a while. You hear things. See opportunities" Tristan replied, his words flowing smoothly. Rory watched his profile, his body relaxed on the chair next to her, not a trace of tension present in his demeanor.

"Right" Logan said his eyes darting from Rory to Tristan and back again. "So how did you two meet?" he said and Rory sighed, feeling the conversation veer into dangerous territory.

"We went to high school together" came Tristan's reply before she could even think to answer.

"You went from Chilton to the army?" Logan asked, incredulous.

"There might have been a bit of military school in between" the taller blonde murmured with a soft smirk.

"Huh. Didn't you... your grandfather was Janlan DuGray?" Logan asked, musing, his eyes suddenly shining with a new recognition.

"Yeah" Tristan affirmed, his face showing no emotion.

"Your family doesn't talk about you much" Logan pointed out, a smirk appearing on his face and she felt her stomach clench, recognizing the dangerous tone.

"I would imagine not. I am the black sheep" came Tristan's reply and Logan chuckled.

"I know how that feels" he murmured.

On the surface, it felt like a casual conversation, lighthearted even, but Rory felt more tense with every second, wishing it would all be over.

"We ran into each other again a couple of months ago" Tristan continued without being prompted as he glanced momentarily at Rory. She felt even more uneasy, watching the conversation like an approaching train wreck.

"Right. A couple of months. Sounds about right" Logan said, his eyes trailing to Rory.

She squirmed under his gaze and her hand involuntarily found Tristan's, that was resting on his leg swung across the other.

His fingers squeezed hers but his eyes didn't leave Logan. She watched as Logan's eyes focused on their joint hands.

"Did you two used to date in high school?" he asked, his smirk gone.

"I wish" Tristan chuckled. "God knows I tried. But she was dating that guy..."

"Dean" Logan finished his sentence, his smirk back.

"Yeah. Bag Boy. What an annoying little..." Tristan mused.

"I know" Logan agreed.

"Alright" she cut them off, her voice stern.

"You guys used to date in college?" Tristan asked and she felt her hand involuntarily tense as though she could reign him in just through that slight motion. He squeezed back.

"Yeah, up until I foolishly asked her to marry me" Logan said amused.

Silence fell over them and she held her breath, train wreck in full effect, horrendous screams and flashing lights included.

"Huh" Tristan said, glancing at Rory who was taking a deep breath.

"Yeah, this just turned awkward" she sighed under her breath.

"But I see you got over it" Tristan nodded towards Logan's ring finger, adorned with a shiny gold band.

Rory felt the air slowly being sucked from the room and she finished her drink in several quick gulps.

"How long have you been married?" Tristan asked, his tone almost identical to Logan's probing one.

"Three years" Logan replied, his gaze fixed on the other blonde.

"Huh" he said, stealing another glance at Rory, who was squirming under his scrutiny.

"How is that working out for you?" Tristan asked, tone dripping with acid.

"It's a dream" Logan smiled his signature smile and took several sips of his drink, placing the now empty glass back on the table.

"Tristan, you don't mind ordering us another round, do you?" he asked, his gaze intent on Rory and she felt almost trapped.

Tristan glanced at her, reluctantly lifting from his seat and walking up to the bar, leaving the two of them at the table.

Logan leaned over the table instantly.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper and she had to steady herself, the familiarity and intimacy overwhelming.

"Yeah. I am" she said, swallowing thickly.

"This guy and you… it's serious?" he asked, his face concerned and she suddenly felt guilty.

"Yeah" she gritted out, voice hoarse.

"You wanted to let me know maybe?" he replied instantly, his tone accusing.

"Logan" she pleaded, glancing towards the bar, where Tristan stood with their backs to them, obviously restraining himself to give them space.

"No, listen, I get that I have no right to expect anything, but a heads up would have been nice. Or a fuck off at least" Logan interjected.

"I'm sorry" she said, closing her eyes as guilt overtook her.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked and she looked up at him, seeing his eyes concerned.

"Yeah" she smiled a bittersweet smile.

"Alright. You know where to find me in case you aren't" he added, leaning back in his chair as she heard Tristan's approaching steps.

* * *

"You've been screwing a married man?" he asked, his tone incredulous as they entered her apartment. He was silent on their short walk home after saying goodbye to Logan.

"Oh, okay, we're doing this?" she sighed, dropping her purse on the counter, exhaustion spreading in all her limbs. She felt an intense urge to go to bed and forget about the strange evening she just lived through.

"Wow" he mused.

"Please, don't hold back" she said snarkily.

"Rory... that's just fucking messy" he spat out, emotions evident in his voice.

She sighed, closing her eyes and preparing herself for the argument to come.

"It's a society marriage Tristan, it's halfway expected they cheat" she said in one breath, walking into her bedroom and disrobing.

"And you are ready and willing" he remarked following her and leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom.

She shot him a look and there was a heavy silence as he backed off momentarily.

"He's a slimy kid, that's for sure" he said, his voice more calm.

"Oh yeah? I find that funny given your similarities" she said, slipping into shorts and a t-shirt.

"Similarities? What on earth do we have in common?" he wondered out loud.

"Okay, let's see. Rich, blond, emotionally neglected society boy rebelling through growing up and then finally finding his true calling and sticking to that even if it means losing their family over it. Sound familiar?" she spat out, approaching him as she listed off her reasons.

He looked at her shocked.

"Is that... is that why you were attracted to me?" he asked, his voice shocked.

"Oh, for god's sake" she rolled her eyes, heading for the bathroom.

"I'm serious" he followed her.

"I'm not with Logan. If I wanted to be with Logan, I would be with Logan" she said, putting toothpaste on her toothbrush and then starting to brush furiously.

"You were with Logan. Up until I am guessing a couple of months ago" he pointed out.

"What's your point?" she said after spitting out the foam.

"Maybe you changed your mind. Maybe you wanted him after all but it was too late. Maybe I came in handy to forget him" he reasoned and she felt her eyes go wide as he listened to his ridiculous accusations.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice shaking with rage, taking a sip of water and rinsing her mouth.

She finished wiping her mouth and finally turned to him, feeling cornered in the bathroom.

"Look. I don't have a lot of tolerance for people, okay? The reason I didn't have anyone was because I wasn't aching to talk about my emotional scars over and over again. Does that sound familiar, Tristan?" she asked him, the pointed question hanging in the air.

She watched as he swallowed, his resolve shaken. She went on.

"He was the only one that understood what I needed and the only one that didn't want to talk about my fucking feelings about my mom and my step dad dying on the side of the road. So yeah, it was easy and it was familiar, but not in a sense where I was constantly reminded of what I had and lost. He called me up because he needed an escape and I let him come here and spend the night because I needed one too" she finished her rant, her voice becoming smaller.

His gaze dropped to the floor and she felt empty and exhausted, the urge to crawl into her bed overwhelming.

"Do you miss that?" he asked, quietly and she looked at him, seeing his face in concentration.

"Miss what?" she asked confused.

"It being easy and familiar?" he asked looking back up at her and she could see worry in his eyes.

She sighed, her anxiety and rage leaving her as she understood his motives.

She stepped close to him and her hand reached out to intertwine with his.

"No" she shook her head. "Can we... can we not make this a bigger deal than it is? The reason he came to check on me is because I've been brushing him off since I've... since I've been seeing you and he wanted to see why" she said, her voice conciliatory, almost pleading as she wished for a truce.

"Is this..." he gestured between them, "is this hard for you?"

He looked at her, his face a strange mix of worry and expectation, the swirl of emotions such a contrast to his usual stoic demeanor. She sighed.

"Yeah. Sometimes. As I'm guessing it's hard for you sometimes too" she replied, carefully.

He nodded and silence settled over them and she felt the urge to ease it.

"But you're really good in bed" she said, a smirk appearing on her face, dissipating the tension between them.

"Huh. Better than him?" he asked, his comeback swift.

She rolled her eyes, but her chest felt easy, relief flooding her quickly.

"Well I haven't bothered to answer his calls, what does that tell you?" she sighed, as his hands moved up to her neck and face to pull her in for a kiss. She relaxed into his hold, letting his lips apologize silently to her.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Is the contractor story a cover you tell people?" she asked, her voice still affected from the kiss.

He remained silent for a second as if her quick change of topic caught him off guard.

"Yes" he replied, his voice even.

"Why?" she asked, curiosity biting at her.

" _'I'm a high ranking military advisor but I'm working to get back to being a super secret soldier'_ sounds a bit pretentious, I find" he retorted and she snorted, his deadpan delivery right on point.

"Is that what I should say you do?" she asked after a second, her voice timid.

"Who do you want to talk to about me?" he smiled.

"I don't know. It might come up. If people ask me what my boyfriend does, is that what I should say?" she shrugged nonchalantly.

He smiled without giving her an answer and she realized he was smiling because she'd used the term 'boyfriend' for the first time.

"Sure" he said, pulling her back into another kiss.

* * *

He had her at a leisurely pace, not chasing his or her release for that matter, as if he were focusing on the act itself and not the payoff. He had her on the brink for the last several minutes, his hips driving her to a frenzy but then slowly letting her down and it was starting to frustrate her.

She could tell what he was doing and knew why, as she felt his eyes on her, studying her every reaction.

"Can you stop doing that?" she panted and he faltered for a second, his eyes focusing on her.

"Doing what?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Thinking about him" she replied, her breathing labored.

His lips thinned into a cynical smile.

"Are you sure I'm the one thinking about him?" he asked, thrusting into her.

She moaned, her eyes fluttering shut from the sensation and she had to force herself to focus on him again. When she opened her eyes he was watching her, his eyes intense.

"It's not like this with him," she said, looking at him, "it was never like this with him" she moaned and it earned her a deep thrust and a shudder against the side of her face.

"I've never been like this with anyone, you must know that, don't you?" she asked, her voice faltering as she was trying to get her point across and her eyes were met with his pale blue ones, swirling with a need that made her gasp.

"Like what?" he gritted out, his hips moving again.

She moaned an unintelligible moan as her eyes fluttered shut.

"Like what?" he repeated with a poignant thrust.

"So fucking gone" she whispered.

He went on with a steady, but measured rhythm and she squirmed, a light moan egging him on.

"When you fuck me, my mind isn't just wiped clean" she whispered as her hands urged his hips to move harder.

"What is it then?" he asked, giving in with another thrust.

"It's overwhelmed. It's filled by only you. I have no past or future or wants or needs. Just you. You make me lose it like no one has ever done" she gasped.

He slowed to a halt, his eyes flashing, his hands supporting his weight around her.

"Is that true?" he asked, sliding back into her torturously slow.

"Yes" she whimpered, concentrating on the feeling building up inside her and forcing her eyes to open and stare into his. "Don't you feel it? Don't you feel it when I'm around you?"

She felt him release a shuddering breath as his hips began to move more rapidly again.

"Shit Rory. You fucking wreck me, you know that?" he whispered in her ear, his voice a low growl. She let the sound of his voice echo within her as she concentrated on the feeling finally building inside her.

"You ready?" he asked her and she nodded, biting her lips.

"You ready to come for me?" he asked, his voice cracking from the sheer passion.

"Jesus" she whispered, her breath faltering, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders as he drove into her.

"Let me feel you come all over my dick. Do you want to?" he urged her, his voice feverish.

"Ah" she moaned, her body humming with her imminent release.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his breath hot on the side of her face.

"Yes" she panted.

"Then come all over my dick, let me feel you suck it dry" he whispered sending her into oblivion.

* * *

He was reading a book, so she figured he'd been there a while, on her doorstep again. It was dark already, the streetlight barely illuminating her steps and she wondered how he managed to read at all without straining his eyes.

She reached into her pocket as she approached the stairs and took out the shiny new key from it, letting it slip towards him in the middle of the page he was working on.

He looked up surprised, balancing the key in the middle of the book.

"What's this?" he asked, a trace of a smirk already present on his face letting her know he knew full well what it was.

"I'm concerned about your backside, with the amount of time you spend sitting on those stone steps" she shrugged, her voice nonchalant.

He let his smirk grow.

"My backside is touched by all the concern" he replied.

"That's not all it's going to get touched by" she replied as she sat down next to him, leaning in for a slow kiss.

He smiled as she pulled away.

"You sure about this?" he asked, lifting the key slightly.

"I think we've been visited by my ghosts of Christmases past, I've got nothing to hide in there anymore, I'm comfortable letting you passed my protective lock" she sighed dramatically.

"It's cute how you think that lock was stopping me from getting in there" he snickered, leaning in for another kiss.

"Wow" she raised an eyebrow "secret army unlocking device?" she asked.

"Literally, a credit card would work on that lock" he sighed.

"You wanna get dinner?" she asked.

"I gotta go back to work" he said, looking at his watch.

"Now?" she asked.

"In an hour" he replied.

"What's happening?" she asked, her curiosity spiked.

"I'm cashing in on that butt touching offer," he said, ignoring her true question as he stood up and pulled her back on her feet to join him, "and then I'm going to go do my job."

"Is there something going down tonight?" she asked, squinting her eyes as she leaned in.

"Yeah, you on my ass" he replied, his eye rolling.

"Dirty!" she exclaimed.

"Uh-huh" he replied as he pushed her through the door.

* * *

She didn't know when it happened, but she realized one day that she was content. Her life had a new structure, a new rhythm and she enjoyed the fact that she had someone to consider.

It was far from traditional, she knew that, but despite the tragedies of their lives running deep and marking them with clear signs, on the surface they seemed like every other couple.

He knew her time of the month and she knew what juice he liked to get at the grocery store. She enjoyed his quiet persistence in getting through her books, picking out the ones he hadn't read and spending long hours on her couch while she worked on her computer. She asked him about potential stories and he gave her surprisingly insightful advice about travel destinations.

He was quiet when they were out and she grew to know that in public, he was in work mode, always surveying and sizing up situations.

Once they witnessed an altercation waiting for a subway, one she'd been accustomed to in the past years: a drunk guy harassing a female passenger in a hijab with a small child clutching her hand. The woman stood the assault unaffected, carefully guiding the child further up the platform to put distance between her and the drunk man spewing predictable insults. The woman spoke quietly to the child, in what she figured was Arabic, the small boy clutching her hand in anguish.

The platform was not crowded and perhaps because he was too drunk or perhaps because he saw there would be scarce witnesses, the man felt brazen, walking towards the woman, his insults growing in volume.

Tristan let go of Rory's hand, instructing her to stay where she was standing and followed the man with long, but unhurried strides. He reached him just as he was grasping the thin black silk of her headscarf, and pulled him back forcefully.

"Settle down, man" Tristan said quietly, positioning himself in front of the woman and child and for a second Rory thought the man would walk away, but instead he launched forward, swinging at Tristan.

Rory felt her feet move involuntarily, moving towards them in shock.

The attempt was futile on the guys part as Tristan avoided the blow with an easy sidestep, resulting in the drunk guy's fall to the ground.

"Settle the fuck down" Tristan stepped forward, a hand holding the guy down. "Rory, I told you to stay back."

She stopped abruptly, surprised he even sensed she had moved closer with his attention on the guy and the woman and child.

She obeyed, his tone sending a shiver down her spine and watched as he carefully released the drunk, who was now watching him curiously from the ground.

Tristan backed away from him, still keeping himself in front of the woman and child and he watched as the drunk guy scrambled to his feet.

For a second Rory thought he was going to give up, but instead he launched himself toward Tristan with loud growl, the woman releasing a horrified scream behind him.

Tristan reacted instantly and Rory watched in shock as he adjusted with laser quick movements, sneaking in a blow to the guy's face that put him out instantly.

The child was crying now and the woman was talking to him frantically. Tristan stood motionless for long seconds, his eyes set on the unmoving form laying before him. He quickly stepped forward, moving to him and checking for a pulse, then he looked up to Rory and motioned her closer. She felt her legs move even as she was still in shock.

He spoke to her quietly, with short, simple sentences.

"Call 911 for me. Tell them where we are. Say there was a fight. A guy is unconscious" he instructed her and waited until she nodded, pulling out her phone.

She did as she was told, giving their exact location and answering the questions the operator posed.

When she hung up she saw Tristan, scooted down with knees bent talking to the frightened woman and child in a hushed tone. When she stepped closer, she heard he was speaking Arabic. 

* * *

She thought it would take them the better part of their night to sort out this mess when the ambulance and police arrived, but instead she saw Tristan talk to the officer for a couple of minutes, the guy looking over Tristan's ID and then verifying something over his radio.

They were let go shortly after, right after the woman and child were and Rory watched as the woman nodded thankfully towards Tristan.

The drunk guy was conscious but his nose was bruised and he was wailing in pain, not resisting as they put him on a stretcher.

They took the next subway and sat silently next to each other. She studied his face, calm, unaffected. His thumb was stroking slow circles on the back of her hand as he held it.

She felt like she saw a new side of him or rather how unchanged he remained in a frantic situation and she wondered if he was like this when he was on the job. She tried to recall ever seeing him lose his cool back at school, but when she did, the memories of his young self felt even more strange and foreign to the person she had gotten to know in the past couple of months.

He stood suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts and she realized they were at their stop. She let him pull her up gently to her feet and guide her out of the car.

Rory felt Tristan's hand on her back as he guided her up the stairs and into the warm evening above ground. They walked to her building quietly and he leaned against the door frame as she fiddled with her keys, holding the door open for her when she finally managed to open it.

She walked up the stairs to her apartment door and let him take her keys to open the door, suddenly too exhausted. He led her in and took her coat, making her sit back on one of her kitchen stools.

"When I ask you to stay put, stay put" he said simply, his tone warm, but determined.

"Where you asking?" she retorted and he smiled, shaking his head in defeat.

"Rory" he pleaded with her.

"You plan on getting into situations like this often?" she asked.

"Situations like this happen" he replied, his face solemn.

"And you're a knight after all" she pointed out.

He sighed, rubbing his face, a rare display of the fact he was exhausted too.

"I'm not, but there are things you gotta do regardless" he murmured.

She nodded and stood up, stepping forward to kiss him softly.

She hoped that he gathered from her kiss that she was fine with the fact that he stepped up to be the knight.

"When I ask you to stay put…" he repeated with his eyes closed, his voice a deep murmur as his lips moved against hers.

"I stay put" she replied, her tone playful.

He smiled, letting her fingers entwine with his by their sides.

"Can I ask you a question?" she whispered.

"Asking doesn't ensure an answer" he shrugged and she rolled her eyes, stepping closer as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

"How many languages do you speak?" she asked, her lips now kissing his neck. He was warm here, the smell of his skin so inviting and reassuring it made her break out in goosebumps as she inhaled his essence.

"What constitutes as speaking?" he replied, reclining his head to give her more room.

"How many languages can you say _'I want you'_ in?" she chuckled, her tongue darting out to taste him.

He shivered and sighed deeply.

"That's not exactly the most useful term in combat training" he said, slowly backing her towards the kitchen counter.

She chuckled.

"But I can make anything sound sexy" he pointed out, lifting her up gently and coming to stand between her legs.

"Let's see" she urged him, her hands going around his neck.

He spoke softly, in what she figured was Russian, the quiet murmur tingling her senses.

"What does that mean?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Who's the commander?" he replied with a slow smirk.

She chuckled as she let him kiss her neck.

He murmured into her skin, this time in French, she realized.

She deciphered this particular sentence, despite the ten odd years since her Chilton French classes.

"Watch out, on your right?" she chuckled and he hummed, impressed.

He went on, in a language she couldn't quite recognize.

"What's that?" she asked, eyes still closed as she concentrated on his lips tracing kisses.

"Turkish" he whispered into her ear and she sighed at the sensation.

"What does it mean?" she asked in a breathy voice.

"It means _'I need to fuck you against this counter right now'_ " he said, pulling her closer to the ledge, grinding himself against her.

"Does it really?" she gasped.

"No, it means the _'premise is secured'_ , but I'm still gonna fuck you against this counter right now" he mused.

"How do you say _'go ahead'_?" she asked, leaning back on her outstretched hands.

"In what language?" he chuckled as he worked on pulling her pants and shoes off.

"Um… Finnish" she replied, lifting her hips lightly to aid him.

" _Mennä eteenpäin_ " he replied and it made her laugh out loud.

"Is that really what it means?" she asked and he nodded, smiling as he watched her laugh.

"Finnish is not really sexy" she pointed out.

"Wait till you hear _'hold on, I'm getting a condom'_ " he said, kissing her swiftly on the mouth as he disappeared into the bedroom to fulfill his task.

She shook from laughter as she stared up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling weightless and light.

He came back, pants discarded along the way and his hands already working the condom onto himself.

He asked her something she recognized was Italian, the melodic sentence caressing her ears.

"That's _'what are you smiling about?'_ for your information" he pointed out.

"I love being with you" she said, a grin spreading on her face.

He looked at her, motionless for a long second, before he stepped closer, guiding himself into her.

She gasped, closing her eyes as the feeling overwhelmed her.

"Ditto" he replied.


	11. The dice were loaded from the start

Author's note: You guys, bdevils76 is here! * _happy dance_ * I feel like it's 2008, hehe. But seriously, thank you all for your thoughtful reviews.

You thought we were done with surprise drop ins? No sir. We're jut getting started. The real world is knocking...

* * *

It was one of the rare nights they spent at his place. He seemed to favor the Georgetown apartment too, but they were cooking dinner and her kitchen lacked even the basic required tools and ingredients. She watched as he was chopping up meat, throwing it into a pan when there was a knock on the door.

He froze, his eyes jumping to hers. He washed and wiped his hands and she saw him check his pager, no doubt thinking he might have missed a notification.

He walked to the door and peeked through the peephole.

"Jesus Christ" he let out a surprised breath, tearing the door open.

She watched as he greeted the stranger standing in the doorway with a manly hug.

"Look at you man, the rumors are true, you're back from the dead" the guy exclaimed.

"Spinner, it's good to see you" she heard him reply.

She stood up making herself known to the man who entered the small apartment stopping abruptly when he saw her. She recognized him instantly, from the picture she'd seen at Charlotte's house, the third guy from the photo taken in a desert almost ten years prior. He had the same shining eyes, but he looked a lot more grown up, with muscles packed onto his once lanky frame.

"Spinner, this is Rory, my girlfriend" Tristan introduced her. "Rory, this is Spinner, an old friend."

Spinner glanced back at Tristan, a flash of surprise crossing his features, but he recovered quickly, turning to Rory with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am" the guy said and Rory shook his hand smiling at the inherent politeness.

"Sorry for dropping in like this," Spinner said, "I've got a thing tomorrow at Arlington and I thought I'd check this address."

He regarded Tristan.

Rory wondered what the 'thing at Arlington' would mean between guys like these.

"You look... good man, how are you?" Spinner asked and Rory felt the same sense of worry when Charlotte first greeted Tristan. Charlotte had remarked he looked thin and she wondered what he seemed like to people who knew him before his injury. It seemed to her like he looked healthy, but to the people who saw him again it seemed like there was a lot of change, a lot to adjust to, their quiet shock and obvious surprise making Tristan smile apologetically.

"I'm good" Tristan said without elaborating further and his friend gave him a curt nod.

"Yeah, I can tell" Spinner winked, glancing at Rory.

Rory felt her face warm and she ducked into the kitchen self consciously.

"You okay to stay for dinner?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah man, if it's not too much trouble, you know I can't resist your cooking" he chuckled.

They finished preparing the dinner, Tristan and Spinner playing a weird game of catching up. It seemed to her like they were trying to speak in code, not revealing too much information in front of her even though Tristan answered all Spinner's questions about his injury and recovery. Spinner talked about his most recent tour, his sentences short, his words almost muffled, but Tristan seemed to understand nevertheless, nodding as he listened to his friend.

She wondered if she should excuse herself, letting the old friends catch up, but when she whispered her question to Tristan, he brushed her off, handing her the task of stirring the pan.

They ate dinner on the living room sofa as Spinner recounted old tales from when he first met Tristan. She realized they had met on their first tour, which is where that infamous picture was taken, and later joined the Rangers together where apparently Spinner still worked.

She watched the two men talk and laugh and it occurred to her that she'd never seen Tristan so relaxed, so laid back. There was an ease to him, a weightlessness that she recalled from seeing in high school, but not since she'd met him again.

She excused herself to the kitchen to clean up, subtly trying to give the old friends space but even with her back turned she could hear most of what they were saying, the small apartment's walls bouncing off each quiet piece of dialogue.

"What are you doing here man?" she heard Tristan ask.

"I finished my commission" the other replied.

"Yeah, I figured. You thinking of doing another?" came Tristan's next question.

"Actually... this is what I came to talk to you about."

The subsequent silent was filled by only the sounds the dishes made Rory was cleaning. She waited for Spinner to go on, without seeming too obvious.

"I need a nomination man. You know I've been trying to get in for years" Spinner's voice dropped to a near whisper.

"I'm not sure I'm the best recommendation right now, Spinner" Tristan replied after a beat.

"Are you kidding? You're a fucking legend. You survived a crash and crawled your way back" Spinner replied, the wonder evident in his voice.

"Not quite" Tristan sighed, his tone defeated.

"It's a matter of time. Besides. Until you do, at least we've got someone who knows what the fuck he's doing advising the guys who are calling the shots" Spinner said enthusiastically.

"If you feel like that makes a difference" Tristan replied and Rory felt a pang in her chest as she clutched the dish she was working on in her hands.

"It does, brother" Spinner reassured him.

There was another silence, longer this time and Rory held her breath.

"I can talk to Grayson" Tristan said quietly.

"I won't let you down. By the time you get back, I'll be ready too" Spinner said, his voice pulsing with excitement.

There was no answer from Tristan and she pictured him nodding, probably thinking about his own stalled progress to get back to whatever these men found so irresistible.

"Although..." she heard the low whisper from Spinner and she listened holding her breath.

"What?" Tristan urged the other to go on.

"If there ever was a viable reason to stay the fuck away... those baby blues would be it" Spinner chuckled lightly.

Rory smiled and went on with her task, trying to seem unaffected.

"Don't even look at her, please" Tristan warned.

"What, you're afraid of a little competition?" Spinner chuckled, his voice teasing.

"She's so out of your league, you don't even know it" Tristan replied.

"I know it. You happy, man?" Spinner asked and there was a long silence that made Rory's chest constrict.

"I'm restless" came his reply finally and she felt a pang in her chest even as she held her breath.

"I don't know man, if she doesn't keep you from being restless..." Spinner whispered.

"Yeah" Tristan murmured.

* * *

She pulled her carry on behind her as she checked her messages, coming in an incessant torrent since she'd turned her phone back on. She knew the way towards the exit without looking up, so she was startled when she heard his voice.

"Miss Gilmore? How was your trip?"

He was standing, leaning against a column, hands in his pocket.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, approaching him and giving him a quick kiss as she smiled.

"Picking you up" he replied, an easy smirk in place.

"How did you know I was getting back?" she asked, incredulous.

"You told me" he said, grabbing her carry on.

"I told you today, but not when. How long have you been standing here?" she asked, still shocked.

"There's not a lot of flights from Jakarta you know" he replied, his arm guiding her towards the elevators.

She eyed him carefully.

"I never told you I was flying in from Jakarta" she noted, a sneaking suspicion nagging at her.

"I took a wild guess" he remarked cynically.

She was still eyeing him carefully.

"Hey, most girls would enjoy their boyfriend surprising them at the airport, some of them might even be so grateful as to get frisky in the parking lot" he bantered, his tone playful and she couldn't help but think he was trying to distract her from the fact he knew things that were not shared with him.

"Yeah, you have a lot of references on this?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she played along with the witty banter.

"No" he chuckled pushing the elevator button and pulling her closer to stir her out of the way of some other passengers.

"How was Indonesia?" he asked, his voice lower as they were standing close waiting for the elevator.

"Hot. Humid. Crowded" she listed "I need a shower."

"Sounds about right" he chuckled, guiding her into the arriving elevator.

"What were you up to?" she asked as they stood in the far corner of the elevator, making place for others.

He shrugged.

"The usual" he whispered into her ear.

"So… what? Bombed a small country? Directed a rescue mission? Consulted on new military berets?" she continued in the tone of their banter from before.

She noted his face was unchanged, but he did glance around, checking to see who might have heard her musings.

"Berets are way above my pay grade" he deadpanned and she snorted in response, as he pulled her in closer, the elevator getting more crowded in the consequent stop.

"Oh yeah? Is that a high ranking decision?" she teased.

"You wouldn't believe" he said, leaning against the wall of the elevator and pulling her in for a kiss.

She had the notion that in his logic, public displays of affection were still more favorable than getting overheard talking about anything related to his job, but the thought was soon abandoned as she felt him hard and unyielding against her.

She whimpered as he pulled away, guiding her out of the elevator at their stop.

He lead her towards his car, carrying her suitcase without any sign of effort.

She studied the way his muscles flexed under his t-shirt, his stride purposeful, steps long and lean.

He released her hand and placed her carry on in the trunk, then walked to the driver's side, joining her inside the car.

He got in and glanced at her, sticking the key into the ignition.

"You ready?" he asked and looked at her surprised, when her fingers reached out to stop him mid motion.

He arched an eyebrow.

"I though I was supposed to get frisky" she said playfully, her hand reaching down to slide his seat back further.

He smirked, shaking his head lightly.

"I thought you wanted to take a shower" he pointed out.

"Let me know if I stink too bad" she said, coming to straddle him in his seat in a swift movement.

"You smell incredible" he said, sighing as he relaxed into his seat.

Her fingers worked quickly on his fly and he took a deep breath pulling her into a kiss.

"Missed me much, Mary?" he asked, his tone playful.

"I definitely missed this" she said, reaching into his briefs.

He cursed, his grasp tightening on her arm.

She let her fingers slide over his hard, smooth length and he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezing shut. She guided one of his hands beneath her skirt, letting him feel her wetness through her damp panties.

"Shit" she cursed, leaning back slightly "Do you have…"

He reached back to the backseat, grabbing a paper bag and handing it to her.

"You _were_ expecting me to get frisky" she scolded him playfully.

"I wasn't exactly planning on this particular scenario, but yeah, I stocked up" he confirmed, glancing around the darkened parking garage. There was movement, but none close to them.

She tore the box open, taking out a wrapper and undoing it.

He sighed as he watched her sheet him in a condom.

She readjusted herself, letting him slip into her.

They both cursed at the sensation, the angle awkward, but permitting him deep within her.

He reached for another handle and let his seat fall back slightly, spreading his legs and moving his hands up to her ass. He lifted her gently, letting her sink back down and her loud moan filled the car.

"God, you feel so good" she whispered, feeling his strong arms raise her again and help her slam back down on him.

His one hand reached up to slide under her top and she moaned, feeling his fingers trace her through the thin material of her bra.

"Talk to me" she said and she heard him groan as she thrust down on him again.

"Fuck, you're incredibly tight" he murmured. "Do you know how many times I fantasized about having you in my car?"

She laughed out loud.

"You were clueless" she chuckled, but her laughter turned into a sharp gasp as he thrust up into her.

His hand dropped from caressing her breast to her lap, his thumb quickly finding her clit. His movements were soft and precise and she felt her breath become shallow as he continued his ministrations.

" _I_ was fucking clueless" she pointed out, her voice a breathy whisper as her head fell back, her eyes closed as she concentrated on the feeling building inside her.

"I wanted to give you a fucking clue" he ground out, "I wanted to make you whimper like this" he said, his thumb pushing down more deliberately against her and she bucked, yelping in surprise.

"I wanted to make you soak like this" he went on as she continued riding him.

"I wanted to make you cum around my dick" he whispered, thrusting up into her as his finger sped up, unleashing her release.

She slammed back down against him, crying out as she convulsed, his finger never stopping as his other hand squeezed her ass, his cock jerking roughly inside her.

He released a stifled groan that made her toes curl and she panted, her forehead resting against his, their breath mingling as their slowly calmed.

"Jesus, it's good you never got a chance to give me a clue" she sighed.

"Why?" he chuckled, his head resting back against his seat as he brushed hair back from her face.

"I would have been corrupted. Probably would have not made it to college" she deadpanned.

He laughed wholeheartedly, but his hands kept her in place as she tried to move off of her.

"Hold on a minute" he said, his voice still thick.

She glanced around nervously, the fog in her head clearing, realizing just how unremote their location was.

"Would you like to get caught?" she asked.

"I just want to stare a moment" he smiled softly.

She looked at him, a satisfied smirk on his face, his strong body relaxing beneath her.

"Are you imagining me in my uniform?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

"Possibly" he replied without missing a beat and she chuckled.

* * *

She woke not with a startle, but something weighing on her mind intractably, like she had forgotten something important. She laid silent in her bed, her consciousness slowly stirring, her mind focused on the unidentified fact.

She checked her usual things of what she'd be anxious about: work, deadline, having forgotten a task, the mundane reasons quickly discarded. So she moved to the more heavy hitters: a feeling she'd have trouble restraining back into the recesses of her mind, a sad memory twisting her inside perhaps because of an approaching anniversary.

Non of these identified the strange tightness inside her chest.

She sighed, her mind now clearing completely of sleep and she looked around, finding the other side of the bed empty.

She looked towards the bathroom, dark, then towards the living room, showing no sign of life.

"Tristan?" she called out, hearing her voice echo off the walls of the small apartment.

There was no answer.

* * *

She heard the knock on the door. Insistent and annoying.

"Could you get it?" she called out to Tristan from the bathroom, combing her wet hair.

"It's the pizza, I left money on the counter" she added.

"Who are you?" she heard the voice she would recognize anywhere ask in an indignant tone and she froze.

Her legs felt weak and she had to grasp the sink as she held her breath.

"I'm Tristan," she heard him reply, his voice calm, "Mrs. Gilmore."

"Do I know you?" she heard her grandmother ask and she put on her robe, tiptoeing to the bedroom to sneak a look.

Tristan was standing by the door as a disgusted Emily Gilmore brushed past him into her apartment, surveying the surroundings with distaste.

"You used to. I'm Tristan DuGray, I went to school with Rory" Tristan explained as he closed the door. He glanced toward the bedroom catching sight of Rory who gave him a pained look.

Emily was studying him and he returned his gaze to her as Rory rushed to the closet to put on some clothes. She strained to hear the conversation from the living room.

"DuGray? Janlan's grandson? The one who..."

"Yes" he replied, his voice indifferent.

"The last I've heard of you, you enlisted in the military, enraging your parents" came her grandmother's short assessment.

"Yes" he agreed, his tone unchanged.

"I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather" Emily said, the sentiment somehow not seeming genuine.

"I'm sorry to hear about your family" he replied and Rory returned to the bedroom door just in time to see her grandmother tense, her back going straight as a rod.

"What are you doing here? Are you and Rory..." she asked, her tone frustrated.

"Yes" he broke her off and she didn't have a chance to finish the sentence.

"And where is she?" Emily asked.

"I'm here, grandmother" Rory said stepping out into the living room, finally revealing herself.

The two women looked at each other, the elder Gilmore's expression going soft as her eyes skimmed Rory's figure. The softness only lasted a second.

"Goodness, don't you look bohemian?" she said and Rory rolled her eyes, stepping into the living room, picking up clothes and books from the couch.

"What do you want, grandma?" she asked, her tone annoyed.

"Well an invitation to sit would be a nice start" Emily said with disdain.

"By all means" Rory pointed to the chair standing across from the couch.

She collapsed onto the couch glancing at Tristan who didn't move from his spot, watching her with a concerned expression.

"So, this is where you live now?" Emily asked, her eyes once again studying her apartment.

"It appears so" Rory replied in a terse voice.

"You know it wouldn't kill you to accept some of that money and buy yourself an actual home rather than live in this lair of sin with whomever you found to commiserate with about your horrible family..." she said, her voice taunting.

"What do you want?" Rory yelled, effectively cutting off her rant.

Emily's eyes flashed but she took a deep breath.

"That annoying friend of your mother finally sold the inn. It went for a fairly decent price and that money belongs to you" she stated.

"I don't need that money" Rory interjected.

"Well, you're going to have to deal with it. Just like you're going to have to deal with your mother's house. It's standing there unused. Do you know how much money I spend just trying to keep it from falling apart?" Emily went on.

"So sell it" she replied instinctively, ignoring the pang inside her chest.

"I can't sell it because it's in your name and besides, no one wants to buy it, that god forsaken town thinks it's cursed" Emily retorted, her voice rising characteristically.

"What do you want, grandmother?" she asked again, exhausted.

"I need you to sign some papers" Emily said after a beat of silence, her tone softer.

"Fine. Where are they?" she replied, her tone unchanged.

"Why at my attorney's office of course. What do you think? God Rory, there are laws you know?" came her grandmother's indignation.

"Fine, just have him email me and I'll come to Hartford when I can. Are we done?" she asked, her voice annoyed.

Emily stared at her, her eyes showing a flash of hurt.

"I haven't seen you in years. You didn't come home when your grandfather died" she accused her. "Do you know how hard it was for me to bury him?"

"At least you could finally use the grave you had" she pointed out and she felt her face warm as her grandmother looked at her in shock.

"Are you ever gonna let me live that down?" the elder Gilmore whispered.

"You wanted to separate them!" she yelled. "She lived her whole life trying to get away from you! She died driving back from one of your blackmail attempts and you couldn't even let her Rest In Peace!" she yelled.

"She was my daughter and she was not married to that..." Emily retorted, her own voice raised.

"Don't you dare say it" she growled at her and her grandmother shut her mouth in shock.

"You got what you wanted. They are right next to each other for all the world to see my shame. What do you care? You weren't even there!" she cried and Rory felt her limbs start to go numb.

"I think that's enough, Emily" she heard Tristan's voice, coming to stand between the two women.

Rory felt her sight go black as she heaved in heavy breaths.

"I'll make sure she goes to Hartford," he continued, "but please, leave now."

She heard the sounds of her grandmother getting up and Tristan closing the door behind her.

She felt Tristan kneel before her, his hands gently touching her arm. She pulled them away, her breathing becoming hysterical.

"Shhh" he hushed her, "look at me," he said and she looked up seeing his blue eyes bore into hers.

"She's gone, okay?" he said and she nodded concentrating on his eyes.

He tried again, this time his hands going around her and she felt the warmth of his fingers surround her, falling forward into his embrace.

She sobbed into his shoulder, feeling his arms close around her, pulling her into a strong hug.

He rocked her gently, caressing her back as she cried.


	12. Exploded in my heart

Author's note: Thank you all for each and every review, the ones that just let me know you've read and liked the latest chapter and the ones that are long and wonderful and often better written than the story itself. I love when something resonates with you or you find some hidden element or theme that I myself haven't even considered knowingly.

hereforthe: Losing sleep to read a new chapter? Now that's a compliment

jordana60: I love your insight and take on things. You are now my indicator of whether I have managed to make Tristan's character truthful and believable.

lost0and0found: You are so, so kind, thank you for your words. I have started writing these stories because I myself have longed to read something deeper and more consuming with these characters that still occupy my mind after all these years, so to know that you appreciate it for the very same reason is really awesome.

Alright, enough sappiness, onto straight up angst. I'm not gonna lie, this is gonna be brutal.

* * *

"We could have taken a flight Rory" he sighed, glancing at her fingers digging into the side of her seat and she had to make a mental note to try to relax.

Sitting in a car was still overwhelming for her, even as his stoic demeanor gave her an infallible comfort.

He looked relaxed, his arm resting on the window rolled down in the summer heat. His AC was broken, they had realized after ten minutes on the road.

"I like having road trips with you" she reassured him and perhaps herself.

"Besides, it's easier for you to handle the panic attack I'm inevitably going to get when we cross into Connecticut" she joked, making her voice light, even though she wasn't sure that what she'd described wasn't a distinct possibility.

His hand reached out to find hers and she squeezed his fingers, wiping the sweat off her neck with her other hand.

"You know what else we could do while we're in Hartford?" she asked, her voice light and joking.

She watched as he ignored her.

"Do you ever think to look them up?" she asked, her voice small as she furrowed her brows, looking ahead in the shining summer heat.

"No" he replied, his voice unaffected, sure.

It was definitive, the way he said it and it made her falter, if only for a second.

"Why?" she asked, turning to study his face.

He was supporting his head on his left hand, his elbow resting on the rolled down window again, while his right hand moved back to hold the wheel loosely.

"We're done with each other, Rory" he said quietly, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

She tried to identify feelings on his face, somehow needing a task to immerse herself into, but his face was unreadable, as always.

"Why is that?" she pushed, pulling her left leg up, turning in her seat to be able to fully study his reactions.

She saw him take a deep breath, as though he were collecting his thoughts, but his answer was short, clipped.

"They gave me a choice and I picked what I picked" he said.

"The army?" she offered, giving him a chance to elaborate.

Another beat of silence followed, but he spoke finally, his words slow, careful.

"Yeah. They had another path for me, but even then I couldn't imagine it. I felt like I had to go see."

"Why?" she insisted, trying to understand his motives.

He glanced at her for a second, his eyes squinting as if he were trying to understand her sudden urge to dig into his past. Up until now it was something she hadn't pushed him about, perhaps avoiding the topic in order to not have to think about family at all.

She watched him as he sighed, dropping his head back slightly against the seat behind him, his hand on the wheel flexing aimlessly. He shook his head lightly, as if the explanation was elusive to himself too.

She thought he might not even answer at all, but then he started to speak, his words slow, careful.

"Military school was like drowning. I felt like it was me being pushed under water" he said as she looked at him, holding her breath.

"But the thing is, when you are drowning, you become disciplined. You anticipate being able to take a breath, and you don't waste your energy on anything else, it's the only way you can stay alive" he went on, with a humorless chuckle.

She swallowed hard, listening to him describe the experience in such a graphic way.

"That's how it was for me" he went on. "It gave me structure, it calmed me down, it made me focus. And I realized that the things other people wanted me to focus on didn't matter to me. I looked at my parents and their lives felt foreign to me. My life felt foreign to me."

She listened, an uneasy feeling creeping into her bones as she imagined what it must have felt like for him to struggle with these feelings, when her biggest problem at the time was whether to choose Harvard or Yale.

He went on, his words flowing more freely and she stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb his flow of thoughts.

"September eleventh happened that year. It was strange to be there with these legacy kids, all ready to go to arms instantaneously. But it made me see the power of people having a shared goal. People being motivated to fix something. Looking back now, I think we were naïve. Misguided and misinformed. But at the same time, we all suddenly had a direction, and we had our own will to take responsibility. It gave me a sense of purpose" he said, finishing his monologue, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

Several moments passed and she felt the urge to make him continue.

"So, you decided to enlist?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. My dad was furious, but he bargained with me. He wanted me to go to college" he replied, his words now tired somehow.

"And you?" she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.

"I had a friend that helped me a lot when I got to the school, Tony" he said, a small smile playing on his lips as though he were recalling pleasant memories.

"He was a year ahead of me, an army brat, huge family, legacy kid. He said he'd enlist right away. He talked about the service, his dad, how the thought of college made him restless. He wanted to not waste his years in school" he explained, and Rory listened again with her breath held.

His face became troubled as he went on.

"He enlisted right after graduation. He got shipped out six months later to Afghanistan. He died his first month."

Rory took a deep breath, feeling her chest constrict.

Tristan was silent for a second, the summer light bouncing off the windshield and reflecting on his face; a stark contrast to his quiet monologue.

"It made me falter. I thought about calling my dad. I thought about going to school. Becoming a lawyer or whatever he would have liked" he continued, his words uneven, rambling a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

"It lasted all but a day I think. I woke up the next day and I knew I had to go try. Had to go see. Not because it was my legacy but because I couldn't see myself doing anything else. I thought, if I go and become a lawyer, I'll feel like a part of me died anyway. And if I go fight and die the first month, then that's that" he finished with a finality and acceptance that was uniquely his and still so foreign to her.

There was something in the way he said that. That strange sense of calm that seemed to take over him when he talked about his job. Acceptance? Predestination?

"You didn't" she said quietly, somehow trying to reassure herself.

"No. I didn't" he nodded with a shrug as if he weren't talking about surviving in the face of incredible odds.

"I just went through it the same way I avoided drowning. Focused on the next breath, the next task. I never looked back. Never thought about college again. It made sense to me, this life. And if there's a war, advancement is easy, making decisions is easy. I just went on the tour. And went on the other. I did what I was told. I did Ranger school because they told me I had what it takes. And then they picked me out for Delta. It made sense. I just did whatever came next. I didn't falter. I didn't dread stuff" he explained.

He was watching the road again, his left hand taking the wheel as his right hand wiped the sweat off his face.

"Did that change when you crashed?" she asked timidly.

She saw him take a deep breath, as though he were planning to ignore her questioning. When he finally spoke, his words were calm again, slow and deliberate.

"No. I wasn't scared of dying. When I came to and I had tubes everywhere and I couldn't move or speak, I was scared of staying like that. Of staying alive like that. I fought my way out of that bed because there was either dying or there was going back" he said, his words making her shiver.

"Do you still feel like that?" she asked and she saw him look at her, a flash of worry or guilt or something she couldn't identify in his eyes, before turning back to focus on the road again.

"I feel like I have to do it. I feel like there's more for me to do still" he said finally.

She studied his words for clues. As though she could retrace them back to his brain, back to the feelings that he held inside himself. She tried to remember how he worded this answer a couple of months prior, tried to see if there was a change there, if there was hope.

She shook her head, feeling a headache coming on.

"So we're not going to have dinner with your parents?" she asked, trying to lift the heavy mood.

She felt him relax, and she realized how tense his body had been throughout their conversation.

"Maybe after drinks with Emily" he replied, a chuckle breaking from his lips.

She snorted in response

"You think drinks is all she has planned?" she asked, her voice uneasy.

He glanced at her again, his eyes once again showing concern.

"Did you talk to her?" he asked her, his words careful, probing.

She shook her head.

"No, but I'm sure the lawyer tipped her off that we're coming" she shrugged, the light feeling disappearing altogether as slow dread filled her.

"There is gonna be an ambush. I can feel it in my bones" she murmured.

"I know you're mad at her. But she loves you. And she's your family. I think she's afraid of being alone. Of leaving you alone" he said, his words slow, careful.

She knew what he was hinting at. Emily looked frail when she showed up at her apartment. She had been too worked up to see it then, but now sitting here, recalling the way she looked, her pale complexion, the thin arms, the strangely lifeless face under the thick coating of make up, it was an unnerving picture.

"I don't doubt that," she said, "but she wants me to do things I can't" she said, brushing off the uneasy feeling the memory of her image evoked in her.

"Like what?" he asked, glancing at her again.

She sighed, knowing full well what that list was compiled of.

"Go back to Stars Hollow. Sell that house. Plant daises on the grave. Get over it. Stop traveling. Settle down. Act like what people expect me to act like."

"I don't think she expects all that. Not all at once. But I think she's worried she's running out of time to be able to talk to you about her" he said, his hidden meaning once again apparent.

She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat as memories of her mother, that house, that town rushed her.

She had to close her eyes in order to steady herself, willing all the rampant memories back into their usual place of seclusion.

"It hurts to think of her" she whispered, not trusting her voice. "I can't think of her because it hurts too much. So, I can't deal with that house or those memories. I can't deal with those people. I can't deal with the grief in my grandmother's eyes" she went on, knowing she must sound hysterical. He listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the road, but she knew he was focused on her every word.

"And I realize all of the things I'm missing out on. I realize I'll never be able to slow down. If I slow down, I think of her. It'll never not hurt to think of her. So I can't. As long as I'm moving, I'm fine" she finished her rambling whisper, sucking in air in order to keep the emotions at bay.

He looked at her for a second longer she thought was safe before taking a deep breath and turning back to focus on the road.

"We're a great pair" he murmured.

She shrugged, letting out a surprised chuckle.

"I've seen worse" she said, her voice playful.

"Have you really?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"No" she sighed, sinking back into her seat with a cynical smile.

* * *

She had been watching the scenery fly by quietly when the nauseating feeling hit her full force.

She felt her heartbeat slow and her head become lightheaded before her heart launched into a racing rhythm.

"Stop the car" she choked out, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

"Rory?" she heard his concerned voice.

"Stop the car" she repeated forcefully and this time he reacted.

He pulled over, watching her with concern. Her hands were shaking as she undid her seat belt and got out of the car.

"Rory, what's wrong?" she heard him but didn't respond.

She walked off the road, her steps faltering, her body looking frail as though she were collapsing under an invisible weight.

Tristan got out, walking around the car, keeping her in his sight as she made her way towards a dried out tree.

The tree was in bad shape, its trunk destroyed almost completely on one side, the splintering bark hollow and black there. But it was alive still, you could tell as much by the two scrubby branches on the other side, with leaves stubbornly green flicking in the wind.

She reached the tree now, her hands tracing the damaged bark and she felt him watch her as she stood for a long time, quite sobs raking her body.

* * *

They had been sitting in the gloomy office of the attorney for twenty minutes now, looking at the vast expanse of documents spread out in front of her, the monotone explanation of Mr. Snyde making her headache worse. The cool air of the office initially felt great on her overheated skin, but she now felt goosebumps rise on her skin and her mind was slowly awaking too, confusion taking over her.

"I'm sorry" she shook her head. "What exactly is this?" she asked, placing her finger on one of the many documents on the desk.

Tristan was sitting next to her, silent since they had come in, his concerned eyes not leaving her face. She had been ignoring him since they stopped at the tree, his wordless questions unanswered by her.

"It's Mrs. Gilmore's will" Mr. Snyde said, his face surprised as if by a question of a dense child.

" _Mrs_?" Rory shook her head still not understanding.

"Yes. I thought this was clear" the man before her sighed, seemingly at the end of his patience.

"She's alive" she gritted out, the uneasy feeling returning to her chest. She saw out of the corner of her eye as Tristan looked at her wearily.

"She wants to put her things in order. She wants you to be the official beneficiary so there isn't any confusion after..." the attorney trailed off and Rory felt her stomach turn into a knot.

"After what?" she asked, her tone clipped.

"Miss Gilmore. Surely you know that she's ill?" Mr. Snyde asked, his tone more careful, controlled.

There was a heavy silence in the room, a silence she knew from her childhood, from her grandparent's house, from Chilton, a silence with weight, actual and burdensome weight.

"Ill?" she asked, her hand grasping the arm of the mahogany chair as it creaked in protest.

"Yes. She is getting treatments, but the prognosis is not good. I know you two have a strained relationship, but you are the only heir to what, due to the unfortunate deaths in your family, is a considerable amount of fortune" the man sitting across from her went on, his words flowing easily, despite the heavy meaning.

She felt her throat closing in, suddenly unable the swallow.

"I don't want all that money" she shook her head, her fingers grasping the wood.

The attorney looked at her, his face part annoyance, part patronizing concern.

"She has very specific instructions about the properties and the art and all other concerns. Trust me, if you want to deal with the least amount of issues when the time comes, signing this is the way to go" the attorney tried again, his tone softer as he went on, trying to make his point.

Rory's hand went up to her eyes, massaging them, as if the splitting headache could be wiped away.

"A fucking ambush" she whispered.

"Miss Gilmore, I assure you, this is all going to make your life easier..."

"Fine. Where do I sign?" she asked, her voice shrill.

"Miss Gilmore, there is a lot more we should go over..." he interjected.

"Where do I sign?" she repeated herself, her voice raising and the man sighed, turning the pages to where she needed to sign.

She took the pen from his desk, her movements violent as she scribbled her name to all the lines he pointed out, then got up without a word as he folded up the documents.

She walked out of the office, hearing Tristan quietly say farewell to the surprised man rising from his desk.

She felt the summer heat hit her full force as she stomped out of the office, squinting in the strong sunshine.

She stopped, letting the heat envelop her, warm her, restarting the circulation that seemed to have been contained to only vital organs inside the dark and chilly office.

"Rory. Rory" she heard him call after her. "Would you stop for a second?"

"This... this is just like her" she turned around to yell, the tension breaking from her chest.

"Rory. She's sick" he said, his expression concerned as she studied her walking up and down like a caged lion.

"No. This is another one of her elaborate plans" she shook her head.

"You saw her" he said, his reasoning leaving her without ammunition.

She was reminded of how she looked. Thin and frail, but still just as determined and unyielding as ever. She shook her head trying to shake the picture.

"I... can't do this..." she yelled.

"I know" he said calmly, watching her hysterical movement.

"No, you don't!" she yelled at him, suddenly all her anger finding an outlet.

"You think this is the same?" she screamed at him, feeling her face go even warmer.

"You built a fucking fortress around yourself and never looked back. You can never hurt yourself because you never let anyone in" she went on, her words rushed, unfiltered.

He stood there without any reaction, his expression unreadable.

"I don't have a fortress" she went on, her fingers pointing to her chest. "I have to fucking open the door to everyone that fucking picks to die on my doorsteps!"

"Rory" he said, his voice quiet, calm, but instead of grounding her, it only made her angrier.

"Do you want to do something brave? How about you go and deal with your shit for a change?" she walked up to him, her voice less loud, but seething with anger and he stood motionless as she stared at him, her breathing heavy.

His eyes held her gaze and his face showed no emotion.

"Fine" he said, turning towards the car.

* * *

He drove in silence and she felt more unsteady by the minute.

The rage, hurt and anger were all swirling inside of her, but she knew already, in the back of her mind that she was being unreasonable.

She saw the big house, a distinct memory in her head she couldn't recall she actually had from her childhood.

He pulled the car up on the graveled driveway and got out of the car instantly, leaving her to try to catch up with him as he rang the front door.

She had half a mind to stop him, to drag him back into the car and drive back, surrounding themselves inside a bubble she was longing to be back in, back where it was only the two of them, before they let others in, others and their curious, dark and unrelenting hold on their souls.

By the time she reached him, a maid opened the door and he gave her his name, a flash of astonished surprise passing through the young woman's face.

They were walked into a sitting room within a minute, with the same obnoxious silence she had noted before and she suddenly felt horrible, watching his whole body in rigid anticipation.

"Tristan" she heard a cool voice call out and she turned around, seeing a tall blonde woman, in her late fifties. Her face showed shock, his eyebrows arching in a painfully familiar fashion. Her face, her reaction, the small flashes of her eyes; they were all something she was familiar with, their uncanny resemblance with Tristan taking Rory by surprise.

"Mother. How are you?" Tristan greeted the woman, and Rory looked at him studying his face. He showed no emotion, but the blue of his eyes, the pale and sad blue matched the woman's.

"Your father is at work" the woman said, her face back to a controlled facade.

"I figured. This is Rory Gilmore" he said, nodding towards Rory and she felt her face warm, as though the simple introduction had identified her as the orchestrator of this strange tête-à-tête.

"Oh. Emily are Richard's granddaughter. What an unfortunate turn of events for you" his mother said and Rory felt her head nod, not knowing how else to react. It was certainly one for the books, this reaction, it's flippant acknowledgement of all the pain she had endured packed into a socially presentable package, but she had no time to dwell on the intricate indifference of Mrs. DuGray, as she seemed to be one to cut to the chase.

"What can I assist you with?" she said, folding her delicate frame to sit down on a chair while she motioned for them to do so as well.

"We were in town and wanted to come say hello" Tristan replied, taking Rory's hand and pulling her down to sit next to him and suddenly she had a flash of what he would have been like had he chosen the intended path: cool, compliant and accommodating on the surface, the indifference underneath barely hidden. She felt her gut twist at the thought and she felt the overwhelming urge to run.

A strange silence fell over them and Rory watched as Tristan's mother studied him, her expression calm, almost indifferent.

"Is it money you need?" the woman asked, her face unchanged, but her tone icy cold.

She froze, not quite sure she had heard her correctly, and she glanced at Tristan, his face a steely resolve.

"No" he said simply as if he were playing a part in a stage play, the farce unfolding before her eyes.

"You heard about the adoption" the woman went on, assuming or simply propelling the conversation forward, Rory couldn't say.

"The adoption?" Tristan shook his head, his brows furrowing and Rory felt herself swept up by the drama slowly unfolding.

"Yes. Your father adopted Daniel Matthews, his colleague. He is someone that he took great pleasure in mentoring" she explained.

Rory saw Tristan tense barely noticeably, his back straight as a rod even as he sat on the soft cushions.

"Sounds about right" he murmured.

"For your information, the will is untouchable. And you signed the papers back when you did" the woman said, her words fast, an accusing tone in them.

"I did" he nodded.

Rory felt her mind race with the information that was hitting her and she shook her head trying to catch her bearings.

"I'm sorry, but what the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, her voice shrill, cutting through the sluggish silence of the room.

Two sets of blue eyes focused on her as she felt bile rise in her throat.

"This is your son. He almost died last year" she said, her voice shaking as she tried to reign in her emotions.

The woman looked at her for long seconds, her eyes not leaving hers.

"I'm sorry to hear that" she said with the same masked indifference, still not looking at Tristan.

Rory shook her head, unbelieving.

She turned to Tristan, her face contorting in pain.

"Let's go" she whispered, her whole chest vibrating with rage and she saw a faint smile cross his features, a moment of tenderness in the suffocating atmosphere.

"My pleasure" he murmured as he grabbed her hand and got up, walking out towards where they came from just minutes ago, leaving a perplexed Mrs. DuGray behind them.

She had to quicken her steps to keep up with his long strides and they were out of the front door within seconds, his aim on his car as he was digging into his pocket for his keys.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, both her hands gripping his arm.

"It's not your fault" he replied, his face emotionless as he guided her to the waiting car.

* * *

"You should eat more. You're rail thin" he said quietly, his voice calm as though he'd not lived through the infuriating experience they just did.

He stole a fry from Rory's plate, basically untouched while his was already wiped clean.

"How are you not mad?" she scoffed, watching as he chewed and swallowed.

"I swear you weigh less than in high school" he murmured, ignoring her remark.

"How are you not mad?" she repeated her question, louder this time and he looked at her, eyes flashing.

"I told you. I am done with them" he replied, voice quiet but warning.

"But how does it not piss you off?" she half yelled, making the patrons around them turn uneasily in their seats.

They were sitting in a restaurant about twenty miles outside of Hartford, the summer heat creeping into the old beat up diner.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked and she noted his tone was still calm.

"I want you to acknowledge that they're horrible people" she said, gesturing in vain to nowhere in particular.

He regarded her, with the pale blue eyes she knew, the pale blue eyes that were strikingly similar to his own mother's, but somehow so much more warm, so much more expressive.

"I have. I'm passed all this Rory, you're about ten years too late to the party" he replied, taking another one of her fries.

"You are her son. And she barely batted an eye when I told her you almost died" she went on, her voice shaking as she tried to keep it more in check.

"I think I was already dead to them" he explained, his voice almost wistful and she looked at him in shock.

"Why? Because you wouldn't do what they expected from you?" she shot back.

"You are ready to condemn them because they don't act like you expect them to" he replied with his brows furrowed and she leaned back in her seat, perplexed.

"That's...that's not the same" she shook her head, defeated.

"Why? You have to stop wanting things from people who clearly can't give you what you demand" he said, voice unaffected but eyes flashing dangerously and she wondered if he was talking about more than his parents.

"I hate it when you're right" she whispered, resolve faltering.

"I don't argue if I'm not right" he replied and it shattered the rest of her conviction.

"I just thought..." she tried but trailed off, blinking rapidly as she felt her eyes water.

"You're just trying to distract yourself" he pointed out, unvarnished and undeniable, launching a counterattack without any seeming effort.

"Tristan" she sighed exasperated, knowing what he was referring to, the argument valid without him even trying to explain further.

"I understand what you want Rory, but I feel like you are going to regret not making amends" he said, seemingly not wanting to waste time with reasoning and instead going straight to his conclusion.

"How can you say that when you are so indifferent about your own parents?" she asked, incredulous, even as she felt the weakness of her defense.

"It's not the same thing. There is nothing there anymore. I don't want anything, they don't want anything. That's not what I see when I watch you and Emily" he pointed out and she closed her eyes, feeling the feelings stirred up into a raging storm inside herself.

"I can't deal with this, I don't want to" she shook her head closing her eyes.

"When did your grandfather die?" he asked, his voice softer as he grabbed her hand, making her open her eyes as she focused on his face.

He was looking at her, his face soft, his eyes pleading.

She took a deep breath, taking her time to answer him.

"Last year" she replied, her voice small.

"How did that feel?" he asked and she felt the urge to close her eyes again, the blatant manipulation he was doing overwhelming.

"It was swell" she replied cynically.

He waited a second, not matching her tone when he finally spoke.

"Tell me you didn't regret not speaking to him" he said, voice eternally soft.

"I didn't. They did a horrible thing" she retorted, her insides threatening to spill onto the diner's floor.

"Wanting your mother buried with them while Luke would be elsewhere?" he asked and she looked at him in shock. Even with his careful attention to detail, his quiet intelligence, she wondered how he'd pieced all that together, from that one heated visit of Emily. She felt exposed, as if he could read her with his pale blue eyes.

"Yes" she confirmed with gritted teeth.

"Because they thought it was the right thing" he half asked and it gave her a chance to focus her rage on something.

"Is that how you excuse your parents? They thought they were doing the right thing?" she shot back.

He leaned back, letting go of her hand.

"Yes. It is" he said, studying her face no doubt, wrecked with emotion. "I went to see them after I joined Delta. Just to make sure. They asked whether I'd changed my mind, I told them I didn't. They had me sign a waiver that I renounce any claim to their estate and I did. It was a clean break. No emotions left, no reason left to be angry" he went on, his voice so calm that he might as well have been describing a movie plot.

"But I made the effort to come to that decision. And I was sure. We all were" he went on, making his point even as his voice stayed void of emotions.

She felt surrounded by his reasoning, her own arguments deceiving her, left with nothing but the utter and uncontrollable feeling of hurt and anger that she somehow had to channel lest she was ready to explode.

"You know what I think?" she said, her voice shaking with the sheer emotion. "I think that you have managed to kill every single feeling inside you, so it's easy for you to be indifferent towards your own life. You've dealt with it all, by letting go of the pain and not giving anyone any chance to cause you any more. So it's a little ironic when you want to convince me that I need to do better" she lashed out.

His face turned concerned, a slight frown appearing as he sighed.

"I... I'm not trying to convince you to do anything. I want what's best for you" he said, his words faltering for the first time during the discussion.

"Do you?" she shot back, feeling the upper hand for the first time in the conversation. "Why do you care? You're going to go back anyway" she accused.

He sighed, his face becoming sullen and she felt like she won and lost at the same time, her victory coming at the cost of exposing another weakness.

"Rory" he said, his voice a halfhearted plea.

"No. I'm done talking" she said pushing her chair back. "Let's go home."

"Okay" he gave in, tossing bills on the table as he followed her.


	13. When you gonna realise

Author's note: You are all wonderful, thank you for reading.

We are venturing into Angst City, muhahaha.

Oh come on, fluff is boring.

Onwards!

* * *

She felt the roots tripping her, her hands reaching out to touch the bark of the trees that seemed to be moving closer as a strange nausea gripped her stomach.

She heard the voice, _her_ voice, faint at first but then growing louder and she felt like she was nearing it, felt like she was almost close enough to find her.

There was a clearing, the light making her eyes squint slightly as she stepped from the shadows and she saw two figures turn to her, vacant eyes glancing to her but then turning back towards each other.

She watched with her breath held and listened, Emily talking to Tristan in a language she did not recognize. He listened and nodded, his face stern and sad.

She woke from the dream with a gasp.

* * *

It took her weeks to find her purchase. And several trips. The louder, the better she thought, so India it was. She watched the colorful pigments paint the river a myriad of colors and she let the feelings in her chest rake havoc knowing it would be better to let them run their course than to try to fight them.

Work was solace and a distraction, but it was also far, from everything and everyone that would have made the process more difficult. She liked the noise, the cacophony of markets, of bodies pushing against each other and chaos flowing all around her. It made the one inside her feel less real, less raw.

She thought about calling him, but the thought of him quiet and unreadable through his landline, if he were even to be around to pick up, made her break out in a sweat. She longed to be near him and dreaded the meeting at the same time.

He wasn't at her place when she finally got back and by the looks of it, he hadn't spent the night there in the last couple of days. She knew he retreated to his own place whenever she was gone, but he was usually back at hers if she'd given him a heads up about her arrival.

She dropped her bags on the floor and after a minute of thinking, she walked back out of the apartment, taking the subway, her mind floating in the usual foggy state whenever she was messed up from the time zones.

She oriented herself when she got to the apartment building, the rows of identical complexes always confusing her. She closed her eyes, recalling the way to his building, remembering his buzzer was marked only with ' _T. Knight'_.

She had realized he used the alias for everything, his real name never appearing anywhere. He didn't use credit cards, didn't get mail and whenever he needed to put a name down, he used Knight. She asked him about it once but he brushed her off, saying it was just the way he liked it, but she figured it was something he was used to back when he was in Delta.

She didn't get an answer with the buzzer, but she managed to slip inside the building when someone opened the door. She sat by his apartment in the corridor and occupied herself with her phone, dozing off every now and then.

"Rory" she felt him rouse her gently. "What are you doing here?"

She inhaled a deep breath, shaking her head to wake herself and looked up at him, looking at her in confusion.

"I just got back, thought I'd come see you" she said, her voice groggy.

He watched her for a second with concern, then helped her up and opened the door, letting her walk inside.

She looked at the simple, militant decoration of the one bedroom apartment, the living room equipped with only a couch, an armchair and a sound system, rows of books arranged in one corner and CD's in another.

"You look worn out" he said and she realized she'd been staring at his living room while he stood behind her, watching her cautiously.

She turned around, his expression of concern awakening the anxiety inside her stomach.

"What have you been up to?" she asked, trying to break the tension as she ignored his remark. There was a pause from him, almost as if he were contemplating the answer. He sat down on the stool next to the kitchen counter. She squinted her eyes, studying his face. He looked conflicted.

"Work" he said finally and she realized after a second that he wasn't going to elaborate.

She nodded, making her way over to him with slow, careful steps, feeling his eyes on her and she felt lightheaded, her breathing shallow as she felt nervous for some reason.

She came to stand before him, moving his legs to be able to stand between them, taking his hands and guiding them around her waist.

He responded instantly, letting her rearrange his limbs, his eyes trained on hers.

"I'm sorry about making you do that back in Hartford" she said glancing up at him. "You were right, I was deflecting" she said, letting the words spill out from her.

He nodded, but said nothing and it left her feeling unsteady.

She focused on his eyes, pale blue and sad and it made her chest tighten.

He studied her face with weary eyes, and his hand reached out to brush hair back from her face.

"Rory, I need to tell you…" he started, and his tone made her want to cut him off instantly.

"Can we not talk about it?" she rushed her question, biting her lip as she looked at him.

He furrowed his brows for a second in confusion.

"Talk about..?" he asked, trailing off.

"I understand... I know I need to call her and I will... I just need to..." she tried to go on, not being able to commit to an actual sentence.

He concentrated on her words and his face suddenly changed in realization.

"I need some time" she said, rushing the plea.

"Okay" he nodded, his voice calm and she looked at him, their eyes meeting.

She sighed in relief, thankful she didn't have to voice things she wasn't sure about herself.

"But there is something we should talk about" he said, his voice weary.

"Please" she said closing her eyes. "Let's not. I missed you" she said, her voice almost a whisper and she watched as he swallowed, his eyes dropping down to focus on her lips.

It made her smile, knowing that even though the weird tension, their intimacy was intact.

She moved even closer to him, her hips pushing against his and she felt his hand go to her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder on one side.

"I missed you too" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Can we just… enjoy us being in the same room without trying to discuss stuff that we can't fix?" she asked and looked up at him with a hopeful smile.

She saw him sigh lightly as his hand caressed her hair again and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Okay. What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice once again calm.

"I need a shower" she said, looking up at him with a sly smile and he nodded.

"Sure" he said.

"You could assist me" she said, her one eyebrow raising.

The effect was instant, his body tensing, but his eyes gave him away as they clouded over with lust.

She pushed herself off of him, her hand going to her back to undo her zipper as she turned to walk towards the bathroom.

She heard him inhale a deep breath as her dress fell to the ground, the stool creaking as he stood from it.

She was undressed by the time she was in his bathroom, leaving a trail of articles for him to follow.

She was already opening his shower stall and turning on the water as she turned back to see him standing in the doorway, still dressed, his face showing a hint of worry.

"You are going to ruin those clothes" she pointed out with an inviting smile before stepping into the shower, leaving the door open for him.

She let the warm water soak her, enjoying the feeling on her clammy skin and she smiled as she felt him slide up against her back, his naked body radiating heat.

She felt his arousal push against her back and she moaned leaning back into him, enjoying his silent surrender, her body undenied by him despite his unspoken but likely reservations.

"Mary" he sighed, the moniker light as a whisper on his lips and she smiled, letting his hands slide over her slick skin.

The consuming need reverberated in her body and in extension, his. She felt relieved, perhaps for the first time since they had set out on their ill-fated road trip.

She held on to the feeling he induced in her, held on to the feeling of having power over him.

She poured some shower gel into his hand, letting him lather it momentarily before she moved his hands to her body, letting him coat her in the smooth suds. He groaned, inhaling the smell of her hair as she arched into his touch and his hands moved over her breasts.

She let her head rest against his shoulder as his mouth dipped down to kiss the side of her face. Her skin lit on fire where it connected to his, the scorching feeling more intense than the sharp prick of the spray of the water. Her eyes closed, her attention on her sense of touch and her hands snaked back to caress his sides. He was like marble, his muscles hard and smooth and so full of strength and her hands moved further greedily, her fingers dancing to where he was the hardest.

"I missed your cock" she said, her unrestrained declaration laced with light teasing and she smiled as she felt him tense.

She knew her words had this effect on him. He talked a filthy game, sometimes his words enough to get her panting and hot, but he was shocked whenever she let herself go. At first she thought it put him off, but she realized it made him unravel, the last of his control snapping.

It was proof of his unwavering attraction towards her, independent of circumstance and it made her feel warm and safe, knowing his mind could still be wiped clean of all other thought than being with her. She felt his breathing quicken, his body hard and anxious against her as he leaned her forward, bending her slightly at the waist, her hands instinctively reaching out to support herself against the cool tiles of the shower. His hands snaked around to cup her sex, one from the front and one from the back and she gasped as she felt surrounded by his need.

He moved his fingers gently, but surely and she inhaled sharply as he lathered her in the soft suds, his hand in the front finding her clit, while the one in the back traced in between her ass cheeks.

"Shit" she cursed, the sensation short circuiting her senses, and she arched her back, feeling his cock rock hard between them.

He went on with his ministrations, his fingers massaging her clit and it made her moan unintelligibly.

"I need you" she moaned, pushing herself back against him.

"I don't have a condom" he gritted out, his voice hoarse with incredible need.

"Shit" she cursed again, this time in frustration, but her annoyance dissipated instantly as she felt his finger restart his assault on her clit. Her consciousness was dissolving, like the steam slowly filling the space around them and she focused on nothing but his touch and his quiet words of encouragement in her ear.

The hand on her back moved, a soapy, tentative finger slipping into her and the sensation made her cry out in pleasure, her whole body convulsing in a sudden orgasm that took her by storm.

She shook for long seconds, his embrace holding her upright as her cries came uninhibited and when the waves settled, she felt his finger slip from her behind while his palm smoothed out over her center.

She panted, her arms stretched out against the tiles of the shower, the warm water beating down on them, her mind slowly clearing as the intense feeling dissipated from her insides. She felt him against her back, tense and restrained, his smell and warmth surrounding her as she came down slowly.

She turned around, her sight still unfocused and drifting in a haze, to see him, his eyes pale blue and his expression strained. She felt an incredible need, to make him feel as consumed as she herself did, of having him at her mercy and she held his gaze as she lowered herself to her knees, letting the water hit his chest with full force.

He let out a ragged breath, his eyes clouding over and she watched as he closed his eyes in anticipation.

She took him into her mouth, his warm, wet, smooth length sliding into her without restrain and she heard him cry out, a loud, unrestrained expression of surrender.

His hands went to the back of her head and she felt a wave of excitement as she felt his whole body tense, his hands keeping a firm hold on her.

She moaned, letting the vibrations of her mouth surround him and his reaction was quick and overwhelming.

"Fuck, Rory" he cursed and she felt a thrill as he pulsed lightly inside her mouth.

She held still for a second, then moved, sucking him in deep and then pulling back, her tongue darting out to lick his tip and her hand griping his base.

Another curse followed from him, his expressions encouraging her, invigorating her.

She felt his hand relax on her head, but she moved her own over his, guiding him to push her head down, letting him slide back down her throat.

"Fuck" he cried out again, his hands tensing in her hair and she felt him take the lead carefully, setting a steady and deep rhythm, his hands guiding her back down onto him with each thrust.

His words flowed in an incessant manner and she could hardly make out the mumbled expressions.

"Fucking hell Rory, your mouth is incredible" he gritted out and she moaned, encouraging him, relaxing her throat to let him in even deeper. She felt him slide inside her mouth to the tilt and he cried out again, unusually loud she noted.

He thrust even faster, his loud, panting breathing filling the shower stall.

Her hand trailed back towards his ass, remembering the sensation he invoked in her and her finger barely reached his slit when she heard him curse out loud, his whole body tensing.

"Fuck, Rory, I'm gonna cum all over you."

She felt her own body react, his words unleashing a feeling less intense, but even more persistent than before and she had to pull back to be able to take a breath. She squeezed him as she pulled back, hearing him cry out as his hot heat filled her mouth in heavy torrents.

She looked up, seeing him support himself with arms outstretched, his face contorted with pleasure.

"Jesus Christ" he panted as he opened his eyes and focused them on hers, his back resting against the glass wall of the shower.

He slid down to the floor, his whole body spent and he reached out, gently pulling her close as the water fell over them.

* * *

She felt the difference, the tension not as strong but somehow still present in their every day lives. It's like they were dancing around invisible markers, not unlike when they first go reacquainted, but this time more practiced and somehow more desperate.

They talked less, their silences comfortable, but new nevertheless, their rare off time spent either in quiet contemplation or breathless sex.

Sex worked, their bodies finding a way to speak to each other, even when they themselves could not and he touched her always, even if she was working on her computer and he was sitting on the other side of the couch reading, his fingers drawing patterns on her leg, or if they were eating, his legs intertwining with hers under the counter.

She caught him studying her often, a quiet worry etched on his face as his pale blue eyes took in her form.

He was gone more, she noted, a lot of time overnight, but when he was over at her place he was insatiable, sometimes not giving her any rest at all.

Their lovemaking had become familiar but not any less anxious and he seemed to have learned all her reactions, all the secrets to how her body responded, the goal of giving her pleasure an obsession of sorts.

She learned as well, knowing how to turn him on in an instance. The robe did it every time, she found, her naked body under the soft silk enough to get him aroused within minutes. He loved her against a wall, his muscles flexing to hold her up while he drove into her relentlessly.

He seemed to be getting even buffer, stronger, even though she never saw him working out and she wondered how he found the time.

He got a cell phone, she noticed, a sturdy, black device she didn't recognize, and he gave her the number, although she rarely called him. When she did, he usually didn't pick up, opting to instead call her back hours, sometimes even a day later, his voice always calm, quiet, a silence enveloping him as if he made sure to always call her from a secluded room.

She never heard him get other calls on it, but she realized he had it on silent, the curious object often buzzing softly in his pocket, taking over from the mysterious pager he used to obey before.

She had frequent dreams, his form, stoic and silent often appearing, giving her an uneasy feeling even when she woke, his smell still lingering in her bed.

She heard the key turn in the lock and she looked up from the kitchen counter where she was working on her laptop.

It was Sunday afternoon and even so, he looked spent, as if he had hardly slept the night prior and only just gotten a couple of hours of shut eye.

"Hey" he smiled slowly at her, leaning over the counter to give her a soft kiss.

He sat down across from her, eyeing her notes that she was working from, while his hand found her knee below the counter.

She studied him for a second, noting his calm demeanor, but feeling the tightness in her chest that she had been preoccupied with for the past week or so.

She watched him, as if seeing him clearly for the first time in a long time, the feeling inside her chest growing into a definite, undeniable certainty until it consumed all of her.

"Were you gonna tell me you're back at work?" she asked quietly and watched as his eyes darted to hers.

He watched her for a moment, a flash of shock passing through his eyes before he reeled himself in, the usual stoic indifference settling on him, his eyes deep and thoughtful, as if he were contemplating the possible routes this conversation was going to go.

"How did you know?" he asked, his eyes trained on hers.

She felt the realization, the certainty unleash within her, sweeping her carefully maintained balance like a tidal wave and she had to steady herself, to not let the panic settle on her own face. She blinked, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You get up at six every morning. You take the car. When you come back it's muddy sometimes. I imagine there isn't a lot of mud at the Pentagon. But there might be some at Fort Meade?" she listed the facts, trying to keep her face emotionless.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath.

"They evaluated me again last month" he said, his voice calm, quiet, his only explanation for all her questions.

"And they approved you" she added, mechanically, the words coming out in spoken form somehow helpful in warding of the dread collecting inside her chest.

"They approved me" he confirmed and she wondered if he was using that same technique, echoing pointless phrases in order to procrastinate facing their meaning.

She sighed, suddenly feeling her throat constrict. She closed her eyes, trying to swallow.

"It's what I've been working for" he said, his tone unchanged but somehow it felt like he was pleading with her.

"I know, I know. What does it mean?" she brushed him off, opening her eyes to focus on him again.

"It means I have a job" he replied, stressing the word, as if he were talking to a wild animal prone to spook.

"What job is that exactly?" she shot back and the question felt like all her emotions lashing out in an ill-produced cry. She took a breath, biting her lip and cursing herself for not being able to hide her emotions.

He sat on his stool motionless, without any indication he wanted to answer her question.

She scoffed, her frustrations getting past her protective restrain, released in a quick and honest puff of air.

"Okay, yeah okay. I know. You're not allowed to say, so let me just muse here okay?" she said, giving up trying to maintain the civility, pushing her stool back as she descended and started to pace in the kitchen area.

"You're back at work, but not living at the base. You're not wearing a uniform, you're not shaved, you didn't get a haircut" she listed, and she felt his eyes on her, following her every move. She heard her own voice, dangerously volatile and she wished she could keep it from trembling.

"If it's just being an advisor, it wouldn't be a secret. So, I'm guessing you're on active duty. Back with Delta?" she stopped, turning to him and watching for any reactions on his face.

He furrowed his brows as he listened.

"Rory..." he called out her name, a warning, a plea, a thinly veiled attempt to get her to stay calm.

"You're a Delta Force operator" she cut him off, spitting out the words like an accusation and he clenched his jaw in response.

They held still, staring at each other.

"Rory, this can't..." he tried again, but she cut him off.

"I know, I know" she reassured him, "I'm not gonna do an investigative report, calm down."

"It's not as simple as that" he sighed, a hand running through his hair.

She furrowed her brow. She watched as his face showed worry and what looked like guilt. She tried to decipher the reason behind those emotions and suddenly it hit her like lightning.

"Is there some type of ban on being involved with a journalist? Are they really going to..." she asked incredulous, but his calm voice stopped her panicked questions.

"It has to not be an issue. There can't be questions. You are curious by nature. And some of these things, you will ache to know and tell people, tell the world, but it can't work like that. There can't be any worry on their part" he said, his eyes focused on her as though he was trying to communicate with all his senses.

"Jesus" she huffed. " _Their part_? You are talking like I'm under surveillance" she said, her voice a hysterical exclamation.

He watched her quietly and his lack of denial made her blood freeze in her veins. She felt her legs go weak and she climbed back onto the stool in defeat.

"You've been under surveillance" he stated calmly, reassuring her fears.

"Since when?" she asked, pulling her sweater tighter around her.

He didn't respond.

She replayed memories, their first meeting, his reluctance, him waiting for her, always in public as if making sure to not hide, him knowing more than she would tell him about where she was and how long. The realization sent a shiver down her spine. A thought suddenly lodged in her brain, an instant wave of nausea accompanying it.

"Is that..." she suddenly looked up studying him, "is that why you debated?"

He squinted lightly as if trying to understand her words.

"Is that why you debated seeing me when I told you to call me?" she elaborated, halfway convinced already.

He didn't jump at the chance to deny the accusation and it was enough for her to feel the overwhelming feeling of betrayal.

"Jesus, Tristan" she hissed, getting off of her stool again and walking towards the bedroom.

"Rory" she heard him call after her.

"You were reluctant to get involved with me because you were afraid it would worsen your chances" she shot back at him, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"I was afraid it would screw up your life" he corrected her, his words uncharacteristically terse and she turned around to see him standing in the doorway.

"Right. Because I was your only concern" she shot back, pointing at him accusingly.

"Because I felt selfish for wanting you to be in my life" he replied, his voice slightly annoyed.

She shook her head and took a deep breath, closing her eyes to calm herself.

When she looked at him, she found him studying her, face showing worry and she cursed under her breath, letting the bitter feeling of acceptance spread through her.

"How does that even work? Are you going to be deployed?" she asked, her voice sounding insecure, a frail whisper.

"No...not right away... it doesn't work like that. I don't know ahead" he said quietly, his arms going around himself in a rare gesture.

"So, you just sit around and they call you? Like _'hey, you want to go shoot up some bad guys in Pakistan?'_ or something like that?" she retorted, her tone defensive as she hugged herself, mirroring his stance.

"I go to the base every day, I train, I learn, I work. I got a new crew and we... we have to train to be able to work efficiently. There's a schedule and yeah, if we get put on a mission, I have to go" he explained. His tone was soft, his expression pleading and it made her throat constrict.

"How often does that happen? And for how long?" she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

There was a silence and she noted he focused on the ground between them. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, calm.

"Often. And I don't know. Sometimes a couple of weeks, sometimes months" he replied, truthfully.

"And you like this why?" she sighed, her fingers wiping her eyes.

"I'm good at it" he replied, his eyes boring into hers as she looked up at him exasperated.

That look made her questions stop.

That look proved to her that he never had any other goal, no matter how honestly and intensely he seemed to want her these past months, it never changed his mind.

She felt her eyes sting and it made her irrationally angry, her hands squeezing into fists in order to get a hold of herself.

"Were you gonna tell me?" she asked, her voice sounding small, hurt.

He swallowed, his face flashing with hurt for a second.

"I was looking for a way to tell you" he whispered, stepping closer to her. "I tried to, when we saw each other after Hartford, but you were…" he drifted off, his face pained.

She closed her eyes nodding, remembering how she foolishly thought his wanting to talk would be about her and her inability to face her family and past.

"Right" she nodded, trying to blink in order to stop her eyes from welling.

"I should have known you'd figure it out by yourself, I should have told you before" he noted, his arm reaching out to touch her arm.

It should have felt comforting, his hand over her arm, but instead it felt intruding and she felt the angst rise inside her chest instantly.

"I just don't get how you can be so indifferent to the fact you're a pawn in whatever they think is in their best interest" she burst out, her breathing labored as she stared at him.

He sighed, his limbs dropping to hang loosely by his side.

"You're upset. Let's not get into this" he said, his voice low.

"Do you think they care that you crawled back from the dead? Do you think they give a shit?" she went on, not letting him off the hook that easily.

"No" he sighed, defeated.

She looked at him baffled.

"This concept is not built on emotion, Rory" he said, his face in a frown.

"They are trying to cover their own tracks. All of the military operations we are currently involved with can be explained by economic and political agendas…" she went on, her anger rolling off of her in waves.

"Yes" he interjected, not denying her argument.

"And we have basically aided in the emergence of dozens of militia groups in regions that have been politically destabilized by our own efforts…" she went on.

"Yes" he said, defeated and she closed her eyes, her fingers wiping them in a movement of frustrated annoyance.

"And you partake in this" she yelled, dropping her hands as she looked at him.

"I can't be critical of what we're doing and still be there to do it properly. I have to accept it as fundamentally necessary. I have to accept it as a given" he said, his voice carefully controlled and it made her want to scream out loud.

"Why?" she cried out, a tear escaping her eyes.

"Because this is who I am, Rory" he shot back, his voice so strong she felt it echo in her chest and she gasped at the intensity, so unfamiliar from him.

His face contorted instantly, as if he regretted his outburst instantly.

"I just don't understand it" she whispered, her voice breaking from the emotion.

"You don't have to. You can accept it though" he said, his voice back to calm, almost pleading.

She shook her head sighing, dropping her gaze to the floor as the two of them stood awkwardly.

"Do you think it's right?" she asked, her voice small as she felt her face scrunch in pain.

"No. But sometimes, you have to do what's not right for something else to work" he gritted out.

She shook her head, not understanding.

"If you found something" he stepped forward, his hands going up to her arms as if he were trying to pass his thoughts, his conviction through his touch, "that was kept a secret in order to keep people safe, would you expose it? Knowing in the long haul it would be the worse decision?"

She shook her head, this time with conviction.

"I am a journalist. That's what I have to do. I have to tell the truth" she said, her voice bordering on hysterical.

He let go of her hand as if he were faced with a discrepancy so definite, so insurmountable between them that no conviction would build a bridge over it.

"Then you know what it feels to believe in something even if someone else thinks that it's ludicrous and stupid."

It was as close as he could come to an accusation, she knew, but it was enough to make her see they were too far on this to see eye to eye.

She sighed, her reasoning exhausted. She felt lethargic, her every nerve ending ready to give up and rest.

She looked at him, his whole body an unyielding vortex of incomprehensible beliefs and convictions and she felt a longing, a deep and uncontrollable ache in her very soul.

"Are you happy?" she asked, her voice small, timid.

He looked at her, his face in a frown.

"It's what I've been working for. It's what kept me alive" he said, his voice pleading.

"Right" she nodded, the deepest of breaths not enough to help her with breaking the tension inside her chest.


	14. The time was wrong

Author's note: Thank you for sticking with this story and thank you for the reviews letting me know it gets you in the feels. Oh, did you think we were only visiting Angst City? No, no, no, there's a bunch of stops on this tour. Next up: Anguishville.

* * *

She heard the key turn in the lock and she closed her eyes cursing silently.

He hadn't been around for days, but of course he would show up at the most unfortunate time.

She saw him as he stepped inside, his body freezing as the man sitting across from Rory turned around to regard him curiously.

She saw his eyes flash to hers, his face emotionless, but his eyes full of question and something that she only remembered seeing when Logan came to visit. She did an involuntary eye roll and had to bite her lip to keep herself from releasing an annoyed chuckle. She figured he'd had preconceptions about the way she'd lived her life, but this was stretching it by even her standards.

"Tristan" she sighed, letting her displeasure show, "this is my dad. Dad, this is Tristan."

His eyes flashed back to hers and she wondered if anyone's eyes could be as effective as Tristan's conveying emotion. There was shock, surprise and an apologetic look, all within a matter of seconds.

Her father got up from the stool, smiling uncomfortably as he stepped towards Tristan to shake his hand.

"Apparently, Emily was displeased with my Hartford appearance and sent in the big guns" Rory said, her eyes rolling as she rested her chin on her hand, watching Chris discreetly size up Tristan.

There was plenty to see, Rory realized, especially since he'd been back on active status. Even she could see the change when she came back from a couple of days of assignment, he always seemed to be getting stronger, his muscles tensing under his long-sleeved shirts. He still covered up though, all the muscles apparently not enough in his mind to keep people from wondering about scars.

"Ror, she didn't… I was in town and I thought I'd come see you. I'm allowed, no?" Christopher said, his eyes tearing from Tristan reluctantly and focusing on her daughter, drawing Rory back to the strange meeting taking place in her kitchen.

"It's not illegal, no" she replied, failing to keep her voice from sounding bitter.

There was another look from Tristan, like he was reading the situation just from her annoyed remarks and she realized she'd probably never mentioned her father to him and he'd just assumed he was out of the picture.

Truth was, Christopher was someone who had so many of her conflicting emotions, memories and fears tied to himself, that it was hard for her to engage with him, in presence or even in thought. It was always disarming, his easy charm, his familiar banter drawing her in at first, but the bitter aftertaste, her fluttering anxiety reared its head within minutes, their conversations stalling and becoming uncomfortable as soon as his worry for her made itself evident by his searching gaze and probing questions.

She was sort of relieved to have Tristan arrive in that regard, happy to be off the hook and focus on a different type of awkwardness instead.

Christopher focused on the key in Tristan's hand.

"So, you guys live together?" he asked.

She felt Tristan glance momentarily at her and then back at her dad and she had to bite back another chuckle ready to escape.

"Tristan has a key, he takes care of my plants when I'm away" she said with a dry tone.

She could see her father glancing around the apartment, no doubt observing the distinct lack of plants of any kind and then give her a look that made her feel like she was back in high school, even though he had never been much around to give her those looks even back then.

"What are you in town for?" Tristan asked coming to stand next to the counter, with the ease of someone who had broken the tension in social situations daily. Chris reclaimed his seat and Rory moved to pour them all drinks.

"My other daughter, Gigi, she's in town for a debate championship, I came to cheer on her" Christopher said, opening his valet to show him a picture of Gigi.

"That's nice. How old is she?" Tristan said, glancing at Rory who was lining up cups.

"She's twelve, really smart. Makes me wonder how genetics really work, cause man, both my daughters are geniuses and they certainly don't get it from me" Christopher laughed.

"Well, you must have some effect apparently" Rory murmured cynically, sensing Tristan's searching gaze on her as she poured drinks into the aligned cups for each of them.

"What's this?" Chris asked, looking into the cup of curious liquid.

"It's ginseng tea" Rory replied.

Christopher looked at Tristan with a dumbfounded expression and he shrugged in response.

"It's…a… interesting" Chris said, after tasting the concoction.

"I'm trying it out" Rory said, sitting back across from them.

"You know I still have a bet going with myself when you'll finally go back to the hard stuff" her father said, his tone light, but he might as well have stuck a knife in her chest and twisted it slowly.

"I mean, I think it will be the only thing to convince me you're over it" he said quietly.

Tristan didn't look up, but she noted his jaw tensing barely noticeably.

She couldn't analyze his reaction because she was too busy staring at her own father. She couldn't quite tell the purpose of the comment. Whether it was a jab because of her cold tone or an unreigned wish, slipping though his composure, all she knew is she felt nauseous and tired, wishing she'd be alone in her apartment or better yet, halfway across the world.

"Well I'm glad you are, dad. I'll try to keep it in mind that the clock is ticking" she said, looking back up at him with an expression she knew would effectively silence him.

Chris looked at her as if he'd just realized the way his comment sounded, slowly shaking his head as he opened his mouth, ready to explain himself but then thinking better of it.

Tristan cleared his throat.

"I actually like ginseng tea" he said, "so much better than last week's reishi" he said, his attempt at lightening the mood seamless even as father and daughter remained staring at each other with visible tension.

And there is was really, the impasse they always came across: things left unsaid and unsettled, buried by things that were tragic and insurmountable, with some thoughtless and tense filled words slapped on top for good measure. She wondered if he felt it too. She wondered why he still tried nevertheless, engaging in the decade old practice of showing up and then fleeing disappointed.

"Well, I should go. It was good to meet you Tristan. Nice to see you Rory. Keep in touch, okay?" he said, rising from his seat.

"Sure" she nodded, acknowledging both his leaving and their unavoidable dynamic with one resigned gesture.

She followed him out and held her face out for him to kiss goodbye, then closed the door behind him, doing her best to avoid Tristan's searching gaze.

"You okay?" he asked, sitting on the stool that her father occupied up until now.

"Yeah" she said, successfully avoiding his gaze as she went to clear off the counter.

"Your sister… she looks a lot like you did, back in school" he went on, his words careful, his tone soft.

She arched an eyebrow.

"That is your type" she snorted and he gave her a look.

"Do you see her much?" he asked, trying to stir the conversation back from insanity, no doubt.

"Not for a while now, no" she shrugged, taking the used cups and putting them into the sink.

"You want to go see her?" he went on.

"No, I've got to fly out tonight" she replied, opting to wash the cups to occupy herself.

"Tonight? I thought it was next week" came his response and she sighed, turning to finally face him.

"No, we had to reschedule, because of Jimmy" she said, gesturing with her hand.

"Really?" he asked, studying her.

"Yes, really" she replied, her tension rising.

"Okay. Let me drive you" he said calmly, getting up from the stool.

* * *

If there was a drift between them before, the knowledge he was back at work made the distance even more pronounced. On the surface nothing changed. He still came to her home, spending most of his nights with her, still made love to her in the same insatiable way. But she felt like they were walking on eggshells, the tension always threatening to explode but never quite actually manifesting in a cloud of smoke.

She'd been saying yes to projects without really contemplating, the resulting packed schedule not going unnoticed by him.

"You've been gone a lot" he said, as he watched her pack her bag.

He was leaning against the door frame, his favorite spot to have a conversation from. She wondered if it was because he liked to keep a line of escape open at all times.

"Yeah, I guess. Everything just piled up" she agreed, her tone indifferent.

"Rory, if you don't want to do this anymore..." she heard him say and she turned around, eyebrows raised.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her expression.

"Our relationship" he replied, matter of factly, his stance sure.

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" she spat, giving him a menacing look that effectively made him quiet.

He dropped his gaze on the floor, contemplating her answer.

"Look, you do what you have to do, I do what I have to do, okay?" she bit out, turning back to the task at hand.

"Okay" he sighed, "I should go."

"I think you should stay" she shot back without turning to look at him, knowing it would be easier to let this conversation and him go, but somehow not wanting to.

She felt his eyes on her, his form stoic and silent as she moved about, packing things, his eyes silently following her.

"Is this because I'm back at work?" he asked, his voice so quiet but still powerful. She froze, turning to face him.

"Is what about you being back at work?" she asked, her tone taunting.

"You being gone a lot" he clarified, his voice calm.

"You think I'm traveling more because I'm what? Trying to get back at you for going back to work?" she asked, purposefully making her words cynical.

"I think you're traveling more to put distance between us" he corrected her.

"Says the guy who might jet off any given moment for missions I don't even know he's gonna survive" she murmured, knowing full well he could hear her every word even as she disappeared into the closet.

"So, it is?" he asked, ignoring her comments and focusing on his own question.

"You know, you are really something. This is my life okay? You're not the only one who doesn't want roots, Tristan" she said, walking back out into the room, throwing more stuff on the bed.

"So, this is about you proving to me and yourself that you don't want roots?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. His style of argument, like always, unnerved her, her reasoning dissolving in his line of questions.

"You know what? I changed my mind, I think you should go" she said, her eyes flashing as she looked at him.

"I love to be around you" he said suddenly, taking a step towards her and the earnestness in his voice made her stop dead in her track and inhale sharply. She looked into his eyes, a swirling blue, and she took another faltering breath, trying to reign in the instant wave of emotions his declaration set off within her.

"I love when you walk around in your robe and have the news on and do about four different things at the same time" he went on and she studied his face, a soft smile playing on his lips despite the tension of the argument.

"I love when you work and you don't look up from your computer for hours at a time. I love to have dinner with you even if we don't talk. I love to be near you" he went on, taking another step towards her and she felt more disarmed by each sentence.

"Going back to work doesn't change that. If anything, it makes me appreciate the time we have that much more" he finished his speech, his hands reaching out to brush hair back from her face and she felt defeated, her unease suddenly feeling unjustified.

"Why is my work any different from yours?" she asked defensively, clinging to her argument, even as her voice softened, the bite gone.

"You've been working a lot. And you weren't before. It's a change, I'm trying to understand" he explained, his tone eternally soft.

"I wasn't working as much because... I enjoyed being here more" she said, shrugging her shoulders in defeat.

"And now you don't?" he asked, brows furrowed, stepping closer as his arms snaked around her.

"No, it's not that. I guess I'm just bracing myself" she said, dropping her gaze as she swallowed hard.

He nodded.

She felt his warmth surround her, the tension from her chest gone and she sighed, surrendering.

"Your grandmother called" he said and she looked back up, trying to decipher the sudden turn of the conversation.

"What?" she asked, not understanding, taking a step away from him, his hands slipping from around her.

"On your landline. I picked it up" he clarified, his face unapologetic.

"You what?" she asked, shaking her head, still reeling from the information.

"It was the third time I heard her leave a message, Rory, so I picked up" he defended himself.

"Jesus" she sighed, turning back to the half full suitcase.

"She was worried" he went on.

"I'm sure she was" she shot back.

"Rory, you're going to have to face this, if you still want to…" he pushed, his tone pleading.

"Can we please not talk about this now?" she said, stressing the words as she stuffed another sweater into her travel bag.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, his voice laced with defeat.

"Sure. Do you want me to go?" he asked and she faced him, her anger boiling softly under the surface.

"No, I don't want you to go, but I want to stop having futile discussions" she spat at him.

He nodded, his face tense.

"Alright," he said, "as you wish." He stepped to where she was standing, pulling her close with a sudden motion.

She gasped. He kissed her, hard and rough, his hands grasping her arms and through the sudden confusion a flash of arousal shot through her. She felt her mind protest, her thoughts still jumbled from the argument, but the feelings he induced in her by touching her seemed to flood her consciousness, leaving all protests and reasoning without merit.

"This is what we do, when we don't wanna discuss stuff, right?" he murmured in between kisses, his voice gruff, pointed and she felt anger and lust wrestle inside her even as she was unable to protest.

He backed her towards the bed and laid her down, climbing on top of her. He tore her clothes off, hastily getting rid of his own, all the while kissing her hungrily. She watched as he stood up putting a condom on, all muscles and strength and unyielding tension, then pulled her to the edge of the bed without warning, staying on his two feet while he raised her hips slightly and hooked her legs over his shoulders.

He fucked her hard, relentlessly pounding into her, his fingers aiding her pleasure by assaulting her clit continuously. She came within minutes, but his pace didn't falter, his body a tense machine as she moaned arching into his thrusts. She heard him mumble, but she couldn't make out the words, her body floating in a constant state of bliss, even as she felt the anxious tension between them. She felt him move her slightly, changing the angle as he slid into her further and she cried out, another orgasm hitting her.

Her body was limp, but she felt him go on, unfazed, his strong arms lifting her and turning her around, positioning on her hands and knees as he covered her back with his body, his skin sweltering. She felt her head spin and her arms felt weak, but he steadied them with his own, keeping her upright as he whispered into her ear, a shiver running down her spine as he did.

"Hold on" it was a warning and an order in one and she braced her weight on her arms as she felt him enter her from behind with a stifled grunt. She heard her own cries intensify, her mind releasing the last of her worries, her tension, her unrealized hopes and hidden resentments and for a second she felt liberated and free.

She moaned his name and it seemed to reach him, because his rhythm faltered as his fingers dug into her hips and she felt him come inside her with powerful jerks of his hips, the feeling enough to send her into her own repeated release, gasping in his arms as he collapsed on to top her.

* * *

She got back in the middle of the night to find the apartment empty. She wasn't surprised but it still made her stomach churn. She studied the room and gathered he probably hadn't even been back here since she'd left over a week ago. She opened the fridge, fishing out a bottle of green tea that was one of the few things sitting in there. She opened the can and took a drink from it, frowning as the sour taste hit her tongue.

She sat on the stool by the counter and checked her messages absent minded.

She scrolled to his number in the contacts and called him, thinking she'd leave a message. To her surprise, he picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?" she asked dumbfounded, glancing at the oven clock, informing her it was 2:34 am.

"Yeah?" he asked, tone clipped but alert.

"Hey, sorry, thought I'd leave a message, didn't think you'd be up" she mumbled.

"You back?" he asked, his voice void of emotions.

"Yeah" she said, clearing her throat.

There was a silence on the line and she wondered if he was at work, on the base.

"Where are you?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.

There was no reply on the line and she sighed.

"I'm in town until Wednesday, if you feel like meeting up" she stated matter of factly, ready to hang up.

"I'll come by the apartment" he replied and she nodded, ending the call.

She dropped the phone on the counter taking another sip from the green tea.

She frowned again, deciding to dump it down the drain.

* * *

He walked into the apartment seeing her at the kitchen counter finishing up the article she was working on.

He dropped his keys on the counter, car and apartment, and sat on the stool facing her.

"I'll be just a second" she called out not looking up.

She didn't see him move and it gave her a weird feeling.

She abandoned her unfinished paragraph and looked up, seeing his face serious, contemplative, his eyes studying her.

"Hey. What's up?" she asked, an uneasy smile on her face.

There was a moment of silence, his strong, unmoving form looking almost comical, perched on the small kitchen stool.

"I'm being deployed" he replied finally, as if he were sharing a minuscule detail, his voice unaffected, steady.

She felt her heart falter, the silent grip inside her chest formidable and stared at him, her eyes darting over his features, checking for any signs of relief, joy, anxiety or fear. She saw nothing.

"When?" she asked, the smile still frozen on her lips.

"Now" he replied. His face was unchanged, but his eyes were swirling with something that made her want to look away.

"Now? As in right now?" she asked, the ground feeling unsteady below her.

"I got a car waiting outside" he clarified, his tone becoming softer.

"Jesus" she released a breath, her chest swelling, her head feeling light, the room swaying softly.

She had a myriad thoughts swirling in hear head, mostly angry, accusatory. She replayed the last couple of weeks, most of them spent apart because of her trips and suddenly she felt like she was suffocating, the memories, the thoughts now morphing into a different picture, one where his declaration didn't seem like such a shock.

She stared at him silently, his pale blue eyes holding her gaze without a flinch. She wondered if he knew exactly what she was thinking even as she stopped herself from throwing the angry words in his face.

"You knew this would happen" he spoke quietly, calmly.

"I was hoping you'd come to your senses" she retorted, her words biting.

"No, you didn't, Rory" he sighed, almost reverently, "this is why you like me in the first place" he added, almost as an afterthought.

His comment felt strange, almost flippant, so uncharacteristic of him.

"That makes no sense" she shot back at him, her anger bubbling to the surface.

"Really?" he asked, glancing at her. She could see the calm slipping.

"You need a fucking excuse. To go on living your life the way you are" he said, his face in a frown.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her insides clenching.

"You need to be the martyr. You need to mourn, you need to not have anything meaningful so you'll never be in danger of losing it again" he said, saying the words with contempt. She felt her breathing becoming labored, as if she were swimming in a tidal wave.

"Do you even grasp how ridiculous you are right now?" she asked, incredulous.

He looked at her for a second as if contemplating whether to go on.

"This is exactly why you like me. you knew from the beginning that I would go back, that I would always go back. Chances are my luck is going to run out one of these days..." he said, his tone cynical and she realized, if only for a split second, that he was reeling, his words accusing and not well thought out.

"You have got to be kidding me" she interjected, feeling nauseous.

"It's so much safer to invest in me, because you are never going to have to play anything else than the martyr, than what you are used to" he finished his accusations, the ensuing silence of the kitchen deafening in her ear.

She stared at him, blood pulsing in her ears and her breathing ragged.

"Fuck you" she whispered, her eyes meeting his fiery gaze.

"Why do you feel like you can't be happy? Why do you feel you are not meant to have a family?" he asked, his tone hostile.

"Why do you?" she shot back, the question underlined by the deep silence that followed.

They stared at each other, their breathing labored, their eyes locked in a heated exchange.

He finally dropped his gaze, climbing off the stool.

"I'm sorry. Take care of yourself" he said walking to the door and opening it. The words seemed to pass straight into her body, penetrating into her insides and leaving a horribly exposed ache in their wake. She tried to steady herself even as she felt the wave of adrenaline flood her body, her limbs heavy as stone.

She didn't look up, staring at his keys on the counter even as he felt him turn back and study her for long seconds.

She heard the door open and he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

She let the sobs break from her chest and her tears fall.


	15. Come up on different streets

Author's note: Thank you for all your reactions, I appreciate them so much! I know this story ain't a walk in the park, but don't you love it when it hurts so good? ;)

* * *

It took her weeks to find her footing.

She laid in bed for most of those weeks, not having the strength to do anything else. She replayed his words, replayed their last couple of weeks, replayed the memories in her head. She thought about how he had touched her, thought about when and how it had changed, thought about the moments when she caught him watching her, with a careful worry etched on his face. She wondered when he knew, she wondered when he'd made his decision to leave, wondered if he'd ever changed his mind or faltered in his determination.

She wondered about his words, the accusations echoing in her head like explosions in the dark. She wondered if he really meant them, wondered if he felt used by her in some twisted way or if it was a misguided attempt at justifying his own choices. She wondered if those words for him were the truth or some reflection of it and then she wondered if he could have been right, remembering he didn't argue if he didn't know he was right, knew for a fact.

She thought of the words he said, like a conviction that slowly found footing, lodging itself into her brain. His verdict unlocked some deep and relentless pain inside her, something that nagged at her continuously, keeping her from sleep and numbing her to an unresponsive state of self annihilation.

She contemplated the idea that he was right, that she in fact let him into her life because it was the next best thing to having mindless sex with strangers: connecting with someone who would never want too much from her.

But the thing was he did want things of her, sometimes she felt he wanted too much. He wanted her soul, battered as it was, and not just her body. He wanted her opinion, her reasoning challenging his beliefs even if they seemed set in stone. He wanted her as a witness to his solemnly bared burdens and he wanted her to face her own past, urging her in his silent and relentless way to try to mend bridges she had long abandoned.

It confused her, this apparent contradiction and she thought about it over and over again until her head hurt, until a deep and undeniable anger rose inside herself.

The anger pulsed and expanded, first without any apparent direction, then focusing on him and finally, painstakingly, it slowly directed against her own self, not for drifting into the course of events that in hindsight looked inevitable, but for being weak enough to be overwhelmed by a loss that shouldn't have made a mark on a soul as calloused as hers.

Her pain proved his point and belittled the loss she'd felt before, so she did the only thing she could to make it right, to prove him wrong not with reasoning but by pure power: she reminded herself that her original pain could not be dimmed by anything and certainly not by her losing him.

So she reminded herself of what real pain felt like, of what it was to truly suffer a loss. She opened the doors to memories she'd kept shut tight, letting the overwhelming grief flood her senses. She thought of her mother, young and full of life, a force of nature and guiding light, she thought of the fabric of people that dissolved after her passing, as though she had been the thread to keep lives together. She thought of Luke, stoic, stiff, but as certain and as reliable as anything she'd ever encountered in her life. She thought of memories of birthday nights, her mother climbing into her bed to recite the lines she knew by heart, she thought of afternoons spent at the diner with her books spread out on a table as coffee filled her senses. She thought of herself, fearless and naïve, she thought of that house, always warm and reassuring, even when she was not calling it her home anymore.

She let these memories wash over her, drown her, her heart hurting so much she thought she might forget to take her next breath, letting them burn her insides so there was nothing left to take to the flames, nothing left to catch fire, letting the rampage go on for days and nights.

When she ceased her self-sabotage, slowly re-locking her demons of memories one by one and taking stock of what else she was still able to feel, she realized it made no difference. He was still there, a nagging thought, a bothering ache turning into a slowly pulsing pain, then a sharp pang as if it were caused by a twisting knife whenever she moved.

It was proof that he had not been right, because if he had, she wouldn't have been able to feel this new, particular type of anguish.

She could not erase it, so she accepted it, like a new badge to wear on her coat of losses.

Acceptance helped and it was the key to returning her to a semblance of a functioning human.

It was a sudden shift, when she finally got up from her stunned state. The way sick animals suddenly heal, shaking off what had been ailing them, getting up prematurely, quickly, despite their feet still feeling weak and wobbly.

She picked up her phone and called Jimmy.

"We are going to Cambodia" she said, hanging up before he could protest.

And just like that, she was back to her old life.

* * *

The life she had lived welcomed her back with open arms. Traveling, constantly moving, her sleeping patterns disrupted to a point where she thought she might not need it at all, her phone sometimes lost, sometimes forgotten; it all helped with disappearing, although she figured there were not many more people to disappear from.

She had nothing to account for and no one to report to, his unreflecting judgement like an unavoidable prophecy.

It had been months and she had managed to lull the memory, but if she wanted to be honest, really honest with herself, there really was no way not to think of him.

The thought always came suddenly, her mind finding a connection to him in striking ways. Like now, as she was standing on the top of bridge Luiz in the middle of Porto. The sun was setting just behind the eclectic and busy town that seemed to be built on itself, reaching up towards the sky in a dizzying chaos. Because of the intense rays of the setting sun shunting from behind the town she couldn't make out the myriad colors of the houses she knew where there.

She looked out from the bridge, the river flowing beneath her in an unusual depth, the steep valley between the two sides of this overflowing town making it seem as though she were in a dream drifting and suddenly she was reminded of a quiet summer morning, the shutters open and the heat building quickly in her crammed up apartment.

She closed her eyes, feeling his hands caress her exposed skin, goosebumps forming on the surface he touched.

"When was the freest you ever felt?" he had asked, out of the blue, making her chuckle.

She had initially scanned through several memories: running off to New York for the first time, kissing a boy at a wedding, jumping off a scaffold, giving back a ring, getting on a bus; but finally she had picked a feeling, not a memory.

"Whenever I find myself in a place no one I know had been to. When I'm not reliving someone else's memory" she had replied, turning to look at his face.

It was true. She only ever felt free if she was free from her tragedies, her memories, her regrets and her legacies. She thought about how he had listened to her explain that, his eyes pale blue and intense.

"When was the freest you ever felt?" she had repeated his question back to him.

He had looked at her, the irises of his eyes shining in the sunlight.

"When I fly" he had replied with a small smile.

Standing there on that high bridge, she suddenly thought of those words and she wondered if he was feeling free somewhere, flying at that very same moment.

* * *

It happened gradually. She was researching for an article when she got swept up in the many homepages dedicated to secret army info.

It was tentative at first, letting herself skim over an article, then shutting the window quickly, ready to face the onslaught of emotions it would inevitably bring.

But she survived the first episode of self loathing and guilt and she was drawn to new articles and sources. Before long, she found herself spending long nights reading about potential operations, the organization of the Special Forces, the way the operators were chosen, how they trained, how they lived.

She searched for news in the Middle-East as she figured that was the most likely place where he was being utilized. She learned to read news differently, picking up on certain phrases that eluded to a special operations unit being at work.

She realized Delta was something that was never mentioned. For all the public knew of it, they disappeared into obscurity after the disastrous operations that garnered the most attention decades prior: operation Eagle Claw, the Black Hawk down incident, the unsuccessful 2001 UBL raid at Tora Bora.

But it was clear that Delta was still in use, just more mythical and more tight lipped than the SEALS. They did not exist on paper. They were not identified in operations or awards ceremonies. The names of operators were only ever released after their death, not identifying their affiliations. She read about probable missions, their part in reconnaissance before Neptune Spear, their surveillance missions and hostage rescues. She poured over dates of previous missions trying to piece a timeline of his career together. She got frustrated and anxious during all of those attempts, chasing herself into a near panic attack.

It was months before she started having the obsession that he might not even be alive anymore. She checked the Pentagon's obituary releases compulsively for anyone named DuGray or Knight. She never found one, but the gripping feeling in the pit of her stomach never fully ceased.

* * *

She stared at the phone contemplating whether to pick up or not.

She glanced around, seeing the hallway behind the opened door completely calm, so she pushed the receive button.

"Hey" she murmured, keeping her voice low.

"Hey. Where are you?" Jimmy said over the line.

"I'm… following another lead" she replied, her voice exhausted.

"Another lead? Where? You are writing about the refugees here at the camp. What other lead is there? And why are you there alone?" he asked, his questions getting increasingly neurotic.

"It is a lead on the refugee crisis. I'm meeting with a head of an NGO. What is up with you?" she asked, her tone annoyed.

"Forgive me if I get anxious when you disappear while we're at a refuge camp in Heidelberg" he replied, his voice worried.

"It's Heidelberg, Jimmy, it's the most civilized place we've been to in the past several months" she reasoned.

"Right. Uh… when do you think you'll be back?" he asked, his tone not at all reassured.

"A couple of hours. Why?" she sighed.

"Nothing. Just want you safe" he replied, his tone pleading.

She frowned, his concern for her annoying her.

"Okay, I'll call you when I get back" she said trying to sound chipper.

"Alright. Take care" he murmured.

"Bye" she said.

She hung up, her face still in a frown. She looked up, glancing around the office she'd been sitting in, staring at the walls showing diplomas and awards.

"Miss Gilmore, thank you for your patience" a woman in a white lab coat walked in and she rose to greet her.

"It was no trouble at all, Dr. Wilmer, thank you for taking the time to meet with me" she replied as she watched the doctor take a seat at her desk.

"What is this for again?" she asked, her brows furrowing behind dark rimmed glasses.

"It's a series of articles in the Washington Post about veterans" she said with a small nod, the white lie rolling easily off her tongue.

"Right" the doctor replied, a smile appearing on her face.

"I understand you are the tertiary center for trauma for those of the armed forces injured while on duty in the Middle Eastern region. You're head of ICU here?" she said, reading from her notes.

"Yes. We see about 120 cases a year" she nodded.

"You must see horrible cases" Rory said, a statement more than a question.

"Trauma is horrid, no matter the region. But we're equipped to handle anything, everything is state of the art" the doctor replied with practiced ease.

"If I understand correctly, this is the largest military medical facility outside the States?" Rory asked.

"That's correct. Would you like a tour?" she asked and Rory smiled a mechanical smile, nodding.

They walked through the halls, single rooms with glass doors lining it, some of them empty, some with patients inside.

"The patients, what is your survival rate with them?" Rory asked, her eyes skimming over the equipment lining the corridors.

"It depends on the injury. Overall 60%" dr. Wilmer replied.

"Do they usually get to go back to active duty?" she asked and the doctor stopped, looking at her with a curious expression.

"I'm not sure. We at intensive care see them at their worst. I doubt most of the ones who endure critical conditions make it back to active duty. I guess only a couple of percent" she said.

"That's … extremely low" Rory wondered out loud.

"These are the complicated cases. Simple fractures, traumas, they get tended to on the ground and are flown back to the States. We are a center for patients that are too sick to be treated on site but would not endure a long transatlantic transfer" she explained.

"So why do you think those couple of percents are different?" she asked, her mind still occupied by the notion.

The woman studied her for a second, her face contemplative.

"I don't know. They all want to go back. Rarely have I seen someone who survived something like this and doesn't strive to get well enough to get back. But to come out of something like this without any lasting deficits, that's rare. We can do incredible things with modern science, but we can't do miracles" dr. Wilmer said, her eyes focused on a room packed with so much equipment they almost obscured the actual patient laying unmoving on the bed.

She stopped herself, following the doctor's gaze to see the room, half a dozen people surrounding the bed with a man connected to tubes and machines.

"I feel like you're more interested in that dilemma rather than our morbidity rates" the doctor whispered and Rory caught her staring at her profile.

"I am trying to understand something" she said, smiling an uneasy smile.

The doctor nodded.

"For some of these soldiers their jobs… it's not just a career, it's a way of life, a dedication. It gives them a sense of purpose, but also structure and reason. It's the only thing they've ever known. The only thing they have ever worked for. It's a tragedy when they realize they can't get back to that. You take that drive away from them, take that structure and some of them don't have the strength to pull through. I can understand that, don't you?" she asked and Rory tried to hum in agreement, her voice betraying her.

She stared at the room of the patient, a woman with long brown hair leaning over the man's chest, sobs raking her chest as an older man gently soothed her back.

"It's a sad story that one. We can't save everyone. I think he was only holding on until they got here to say goodbye" dr. Wilmer said, her voice resigned but somehow still soothing.

"Do you always contact the families?" she asked, her voice frail as she watched the scene.

"Of course. If they have any" came the doctor's reply. The answer left a pang in her chest.

"What if they don't?" she asked, her nostrils flaring as she swallowed the feeling in the back of her throat.

"That's rare. People find their family, no matter what god gave them" dr. Wilmer replied and Rory looked at her, their eyes meeting.

"Not everyone can accept this kind of dedication" she said, her brows furrowed.

The woman smiled, a smile so kind it made her eyes well with tears.

"I believe family is not made by blood" she said, turning back to the room to watch the scene. "True love is rare, Miss Gilmore, but I find it's never conditional and always accepting" the doctor said and she felt the words fall into a place inside of her she didn't know existed.

* * *

Convictions are hard to shake.

They are like asphalt structures, built around one's soul, impenetrable and protective. But not without faults.

She didn't quite know what had brought hers down. Was it his quiet and thoughtful reasoning, never fighting, never demanding that planted the seeds of doubt long before they grew strong in the months since she'd last seen him?

Was it her feelings, denied, buried, disregarded but in the long haul unignorable in the wake of his leaving?

Or was it the way she slowly learned to see the world differently, opening up to seeing his ambiguous views, his stoic acceptance everywhere she traveled to, the new experiences building a solid argument she could not deny?

There was no clear reason or cause. But her carefully built reasoning slowly started to shatter, the parts splintering, breaking and collapsing into wrecks, leaving her soul exposed and aching as she tried to hold on for dear life.

When she realized it, that she had surrendered to him fully and unequivocally, she was laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, insomnia, like an old friend bearing down on her chest as the winter winds blew outside her window.

She released a shuddering sigh, the sound echoing in her apartment and she let herself think of him, really and truly, for the first time, praying he was somewhere safe.


	16. Both were streets of shame

Author's note: Thank you so much for all your wonderful feedback, I love it when you shout at me, I love it when you're surprised, I love it when you relate to the feelings and experiences.

jordana60, thank you for always giving such sweet and honest reviews, it's so lovely to read about your own experiences and how you relate to this story.

Hereforthe, you continue to crack me up, love your enthusiasm!

chelsbaby, if I don't get a "well, shit" from you, it was not even worth it writing that chapter, lol.

HPDWTWD and lost0and0found, I WISH I was a world renowned, published author, but alas, I'm just someone writing kinky, angsty fanfiction, *snort*.

Anyways, you know what's coming, right? RIGHT? I mean, come on.

* * *

It was an extremely cold February week. She had been back from a trip since the night before, but the apartment still felt cold to her, even with the heat blasting. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her palms, one of her legs pulled up as she sat by the kitchen counter, rereading her article.

There was a knock on the door and she looked up from her computer confused, the light inside the apartment already fading despite the early afternoon hour.

She climbed off the stool, walked across the tiny space and opened the door. She felt the strength drain from legs as she was met with the sight of him standing in front of her.

"Hey" he said, his face calm as he stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a wool coat, hands in his pockets. His eyes drew her in, their striking shade reawakening the familiar ache in her chest.

She drank in his sight, after months of thinking of him, now finally faced with his actual presence, his face looking tan, covered in several days' worth of scruff. Her eyes searched his figure as her nails were digging into the door frame, trying to draw strength into her body that seemed to be on the verge of collapsing.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

His face softened for a moment as he registered her question.

"No" he replied calmly, his eyes the palest blue.

"How long are you here for?" she asked, the words rushing out as the anxiety inside her threatened to swallow her whole.

He took a breath and released it slowly.

"Three days" he replied, his face saying so much more than those words.

She swallowed, her throat constricting, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

His face changed slightly, the lines of it contorting into a troubled expression.

"I'm sorry for how I said..." he started but she cut him off, squeezing her eyes shut to stop herself from getting overwhelmed.

"Stop talking" she cut him off, her voice shaking.

"It wasn't my place…" he tried again, his voice eager.

"Stop talking" she repeated, her voice still trembling as she tried to give it some volume, her eyes opening to look at him again.

He closed his mouth taking a moment to stare at her as if surrendering.

"You look beautiful" he said, his voice soft, a confession slipping from his lips.

She sighed, but it sounded almost like a sob as she pulled him into the apartment, grabbing his coat with both hands and shutting the door with her foot.

He moved without protest, despite his large, unyielding frame, as if her hands were casting some spell over him.

She stood on her toes, her mouth finding his and she heard him release a sigh as her lips moved over his, her tongue darting out to taste him. He tasted like she remembered him, like she had never let him go, his mouth moving against hers as if they'd been guided by some mysterious unison. She felt his hands move to her waist, his strong arms pulling her closer and she kissed him, moving close to him, clutching the shirt under his coat desperately.

She broke off for a second, taking a shaky breath and looking up into his eyes, their color somehow even more intense. He released a sigh too before moving in to kiss her again, his lips soft and vehement, his one hand trailing up into her hair while the other one pulled her even closer, almost lifting her up against his body.

She felt some strange wave of panic inside of her, it's waves simmering to the surface, with first her fingers beginning to shake and then her whole body becoming delirious, her pulse racing as if she had finally let herself be worried for him, finally let herself not hold back.

She felt tears on her face and he must have felt them too, because he pulled away and looked at her, his face alarmed.

"I'm fine" he reassured her, but the words didn't seem to calm her, the frantic panic turning into a full-fledged storm inside her body. Her every limb was shaking, her breath ragged, her tears falling uncontrollably.

"Rory" he murmured, cradling her face with his hands, catching her gaze with his, before he moved to pull her into a strong embrace, his body molded to her, rocking her gently.

She felt a sob break from her chest at the intimate gesture.

"Shhh" he hushed her, continuing to rock her as her sobs calmed.

She let herself feel his body, his strong and definite presence, his familiar smell, his muscles tense and full of life, his skin radiating warmth, a testament to life and health.

She took a deep breath, burying her face in his hold and sighed, finally getting a hold of her emotions.

She pulled out of his arms, her hand taking his as she walked to the bedroom, pulling him with her. She felt him follow reluctantly.

She let go of his hand, her hands moving to take off her sweater, kicking off her shoes as well.

She turned around to see him standing in the doorway, his face worried, as if he were stopped by some invisible force there.

"Come here" she said, her voice thick as she undid her pants, pushing them down.

He didn't move, but she saw his chest rise and fall, his eyes shining brightly in the darkened room.

"I missed you" he said quietly.

The words, simple but honest filled the room, pushing the air out like a wave and she sucked in a breath as she froze, standing motionless in his sight.

She felt the panic return to her limbs, the light tremor raking her body.

"Please" she said, her hand reaching out towards him and he looked at her with a troubled expression.

He moved finally, kneeling down in front of her, to finish her task of pushing down her pants, his lips skimming the exposed skin of her thighs and she released the air from her lungs as she felt his lips against her skin.

She let him guide her out of the discarded pants, her arms finding support on his shoulders, her fingers still trembling lightly.

She felt his fingers brush along her legs and she saw him look up, kneeling in front of her, his eyes a deep sea of calm even as his face was full of emotion.

Her whole inside shook, the trembles in her body not subsiding and she took deep breaths focusing on discarding the remainder of her clothes.

She finally stood naked before his kneeling form and he slowly pulled her closer, his movements calm, unrushed, his hands caressing the back of her legs, making her whole body shiver.

Her hands reached down to start to push down his coat and unbutton his shirt, her haste making her movements ineffective. She let out a frustrated sob and he rose pulling her close in a strong embrace.

He held her still, but her insides were vibrating with anxiety and she pushed him away forcefully, her hands moving to his belt.

"Rory" his voice was calm, soothing but it made the anxiety in her bubble even more intensely. She managed to undo his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down.

"Mary, please" he tried again and she froze as his nickname for her registered.

His hands went to her face, making her look up at him.

"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry" he said, his words slow, careful and she closed her eyes, trying to relieve the sting in the back of them.

"Please" she said, stopping him. "I need to feel you" she ground out, her voice breaking, her breathing labored and her whole body trembling in frustration. "I need to know you're okay."

He looked at her for a long beat, as if her words, ungainly and reticent still spoke volumes to him, their meaning slowly registering inside of him and he nodded slightly in understanding.

His hands moved then, quickly, so much more efficiently than hers, discarding his pants and shoes and socks, then his shirt and t-shirt within seconds.

She was thankful and relieved, her body yielding to his as he moved, her fingers reaching out to touch newly exposed skin as he came to stand before her nearly naked, quickly, efficiently.

"Lay down" he said, and his voice was different from before, thick and warm, resonating with something that made her stomach flip and her limbs finally feel more settled.

She obeyed, backing up towards the bed while her eyes took in his form.

He looked tanned, his muscles even more defined than she remembered. His skin was smooth, the scars somehow looking fainter with the richness of his sun kissed complexion.

He moved swiftly towards her and pushed her back down on the bed. He discarded the last piece of clothing, his briefs and his hands reached out to the drawer, finding what he was looking for quickly.

She let her head fall back onto the bed, the cool feel of the comforter stark against her hot skin as she heard him tear the wrapper.

She listened with eyes closed and gasped as she felt him spread her and lift her off the bed slightly. There was a short pause that made her open her eyes and she realized that was what he was aiming for, his blue eyes locking with hers as he entered her with a slow, but powerful slide, not stopping until there was no further to move.

She cried out in surprise and pleasure, her world suddenly spinning with the sensation, but the anxiety started to dissipate instantly and she forced her eyes open to look at him, to see him, strong and wanting over her.

His face contorted as he swore under his breath, keeping his body still as his searching gaze studied her expressions, trying to read what she needed. He was silent, his breathing coming in short gasps, his body tense throughout.

"More" she whispered and his reaction was instantaneous. His jaw tensed and he pulled back and slammed into her, a ragged breath and quiet moan slipping from his mouth.

She felt her sex clamp down around him, her wetness pooling, a wave of what felt like certainty, security and reassurance washing over her as she moaned egging him on.

He moved again, his thrusts hard and deep, short grunts accompanying the movements, his rhythm setting a grueling pace and she found herself lost in the feeling, the pleasure she felt slowly drowning the remainder of her fears. She felt then, as the absence of it registered, the quiet horror that she had carried with her ever since he had left, that silent dread that immersed her very being. It was slowly being exuded, chased away by the feel of him inside her, by the strength of his body, his being alive and wanting over her. She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks even as she felt lighter with every one of his thrusts and his fingers moved to wipe the tears from her face.

"Please, harder" she moaned, trying to reassure him despite the sight she thought she must have conveyed and she heard him groan as he obeyed, his pace becoming even faster, his right hand trailing to her neck from her face, his fingers twisting into her hair.

She arched into his thrust and she felt him falter, cursing under his breath.

"Rory" she heard him call out in warning, but it didn't matter much, because she knew she was close too, her body now floating weightlessly on the sensations his powerful thrusts were inducing.

"I need to feel you cum" she whispered, her words foreign to her own ears and the effect on him was mind blowing.

"Fuck" he cried out, his head falling back as his eyes closed, his thrusts pistoning into her as his hands grasped her hips.

She felt him jerk inside her, powerful and intense, the feel of his warm seed registering in her senses even through the barrier and her body was instantly immersed in pleasure, her muscles convulsing as she felt her mind empty and calmness finally find her.

He collapsed around her, his forehead touching hers, his lips brushing against hers as he panted, his hands supporting his weight next to her head.

Their eyes locked as their breathing calmed and she felt him pull out of her with a strained gasp. He moved to discard the condom, moving back instantly to lay down next to her.

She moved to her side, facing him and sighed as she felt his hand caress her arm and move up to her face, brushing the hair back from it.

She felt full and spent, her body tingling with a calmness she hadn't felt in a long time.

"I can't believe you're here" she whispered, her eyes closed.

There was no answer and she opened her eyes to see his face worried, watching her cautiously.

"When did you come back?" she asked, her voice more sure.

"A week ago" he replied, his voice rough.

She watched him, studying his troubled expression.

"You only came today?" she asked knowingly.

He sighed, closing his eyes, as if he were admitting defeat.

"I came here yesterday. And the day before. This is the first time I saw your lights on" he murmured.

She nodded as she cursed herself for being on an assignment.

She felt the familiarity of their conversation, her prompting and him giving her whatever she asked, if reluctantly and it filled her with strange sense of comfort.

"Is this the first time you've been back in the States?" she asked and watched as his eyes were focused on hers, like someone waiting for her to find out all his secrets, patiently, without protest.

"Yes" he said, his tone cautious.

"Is this the first time you've had time off?" she asked, knowingly.

"No" he replied, truthfully.

She nodded.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" she asked, her voice calm. "Where you debating?" she said with a small smile.

His eyes shot to hers, his face twisting in a frown.

"Rory" he started and his tone made her close her eyes, the tears stinging again.

"I didn't come back because I knew the minute I didn't have work to focus on, I'd be back here. And I wasn't sure that was a good idea" he said, his voice hoarse and low.

She felt her face twist into her own frown and she moved closer to him, trying to fight off the distance his words seemed to put between them.

"Why not?" she asked.

He looked up at her, sighing, his face heavy.

"Mary" he said and she closed her eyes again, the nickname too much.

"I'm not one of your suitors, am I?" he asked, his words defeated as his eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips. She opened her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"No" she said.

"And this between us… it's too much and it's not enough" he went on, his hand still caressing her arm even as he was explaining things that should have distanced them.

"It doesn't have to be" she swallowed, her voice thick.

His eyes focused back on hers and he took a breath as if he were bracing himself.

"Rory, I'm where I need to be, but I can't expect you to be fine with it" he said, ready to say more.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you" she cut him off.

She saw his eyes widen, his mouth closing.

"I don't care if this is what you want to do, I can accept it even if I'll never understand it fully. And I don't care if you think I'm unable to commit or if I'm being unhealthy or stupid or childish, but I need you in my life" she went on, her voice calm, sure.

"I don't think you're stupid or childish" he shook his head, his face contorting.

"Just give me this, okay? Just give me this, if it's a couple of days every once in a while" she pleaded turning him onto his back and climbing on top of him.

"Rory" he sighed, his face pained, but his body didn't protest, yielding to her touch.

"Please" she whispered leaning down to kiss him. He welcomed her lips with eager ones and his hands went to her waist pulling her down to where he was already hardening against her.

"Mary" he breathed. "I'll give you anything I have to give. I'll take whatever you give me. Don't you feel it? This is why I'm here. This is why I can't stay the fuck away."

She sighed, feeling him sit up and pull her more snugly into his lap, his hands molding her body to his as he kissed her, hard and deep, her moan swallowed into his mouth.

She broke away gasping as she felt the ache in between her legs and the quiet tremor in her hands return. It was like he knew what she was thinking, his hand reaching blindly to her nightstand again.

"Fuck, I can't stop wanting you" he murmured, sighing as she took the wrapper from his hand.

She opened the packet with trembling fingers and rolled the condom onto him, enjoying his moan that he released into her hair.

She moved, lifting herself onto him and they moaned in unison as she sank down onto his lap.

"I can't fucking get enough of you" he whispered into her ear as his hand snaked into her hair and the words made her stomach flip.

She moved, slowly, but surely, their movements calmer, more measured, each thrust of their hips followed by an enticing moan.

"You don't have to get enough of me" she said, making him release a sound akin to a sob.

"Mary" he sighed.

"I'll give you whatever you want, too" she whispered.

"Rory, I can't… I can't ask you for anything" he panted, his movement faltering.

"Yes, you can. Do you feel how much I need you?" she said, looking into his eyes and he let out a strangled sound as he thrust up into her. "Do you feel how you make me feel?" she said, placing a hand of his onto her chest, letting him feel her trembling heartbeat.

"Rory" he cried out, his voice a reverent whisper as he pulled her head close with his other hand, panting against her lips.

She came with a loud moan, her head thrown back as her body arched and she felt herself squeeze around him, a loud curse spilling from his lips as he thrust up into her, his release following hers. 

* * *

She roused from a restless sleep, feeling the chill of the open window. She blinked a couple of times, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room.

She saw him, standing by the window, looking outside.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

He turned around slowly, his eyes shining despite the darkness.

"It was so warm in here" he offered as an explanation. "Did I wake you up?"

"I don't mind" she replied.

He smiled and it made her heart beat faster.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked slowly to the bed as she moved towards the other side, making room for him.

Instead of laying down next to her though, he moved over her, her legs instinctively opening to make room for him.

"Where you always this soft?" he asked, his fingers trailing up her arm.

The feel of his fingers and the silliness of the question made her chuckle.

"I don't know. Wasn't I?" she asked.

"Probably" he murmured, as his lips followed his fingers on her arm.

His warm breath on her skin sent a chill down her spine and she sighed. Her free arm moved to his back, absent mindedly tracing the contours of his back.

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" she asked, her voice light, but worry nagging at her.

"I do plenty of sleeping there" he replied.

"And a lot of working out it seems" she pointed out as her hand caressed up his arm, feeling the bulging muscles there.

He smirked.

"There's a lot of time to kill" he said, an eyebrow raising.

"Are you..." she trailed off not knowing how to ask without offending him.

"How is it to be back there?" she tried again.

He looked at her, his eyes a stormy blue.

"It's good... it's different" he said, his words tentative, careful, but she also saw a smile, suppressed and placid, but a reflection of contentment.

"I feel like I've missed a lifetime. And I feel like I'm eighty years old. All these new recruits... they make me feel old" he said, his face showing a childlike wonder. She watched with quiet horror, each word making her feel more uneasy. She took a breath, trying to will her body to stay calm.

He seemed to notice it, because he found her eyes, softening his features as he caressed some tresses away from her face.

"How does it feel?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"It feels... it's different. But right" he admitted.

"That's good" she said, swallowing the knot in her throat and forcing a smile onto her face.

She felt the question on her tongue, her mind reeling. Did he think of her? Did he miss her?

As if he were reading her mind, he opened his mouth, starting to speak with a quiet smile.

"It feels different because it feels right, but..." he drifted off, his eyes focusing on hers and she held her breath as she waited for him to go on. "But I think about you... I think about you a lot..." he sighed, studying her face.

She felt herself nod, not knowing how to answer his admission and a light smirk appeared on his face.

"Please don't ask if I whack off" he said and she let out a surprised chuckle.

"Do you?" she asked, teasing.

"I wish I could..." he smirked, but then his face became serious again. "The way we were before I left…" he went on and she cut him off.

"I'm sorry, you were right, I was putting distance between us" she shook her head.

"It's understandable" he replied.

"No, it wasn't, it was stupid… but it's going to be different" she said, her voice almost pleading.

He looked at her, as if understanding the weight of her promise, his brows furrowing.

"I don't want you to wait for me" he said.

The admission silenced her, like a slap to the face.

"Oh-kay" she said, furrowing her brows.

"That's not how…" he rushed to correct himself, then took a calming breath.

"I'm glad… I'll take whatever you give me. I just don't want you to feel like you have to wait for me" he said, rephrasing his comments.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice petulant.

"Because you shouldn't" he replied, as if it were a reasonable explanation.

"Why not?" she repeated her question and he sighed.

"You have a life" he said, his eyes intent on hers.

"Precisely. Which means I wouldn't solely be waiting for you" she pointed out, her eyes widening.

He swallowed, his expression still troubled.

"I don't want you to restrict yourself" he rephrased.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You mean you want me to sleep with other people" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

He tensed and she smirked at his discomfort.

"If that's what you want" he replied, his voice calm.

"I don't recall saying that's what I want" she argued.

"You'd be entitled to" he retorted.

"Because you are?" she asked without missing a beat.

He shifted, letting her feel him against her center. It made her breath falter and she wondered weather he just wanted to distract her.

"No" he said simply.

"No, as in 'that''s not why I'm entitled to' or no..." she wondered out loud, her voice persistent and pushy.

"No, as in I am not sleeping with anyone" he cut her off, shifting again and the sensation made her close her eyes momentarily.

"Okay" she breathed out, "so we can establish we are both not sleeping with anyone" she summarized.

"Did we establish that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing comically, his voice interested and it made her chuckle.

"I haven't slept with anyone since... since you've left" she spelled it out for him, somehow feeling too self conscious to look at him as she clarified.

She felt him instantly harden against her and she breathed in in surprise, her eyes flashing up to his. When she looked up at him, he was studying her intently, his gaze making her shiver slightly.

"I want this" she said. "We can do this" she promised, her words quiet but determined.

He watched her, his face conflicted.

"You can call me. You can call me, right?" she asked, her words rushed.

"Yes" he said, as if surrendering.

"And you can tell me when you're coming back, right?" she went on, too anxious to be able to slow her words.

"Yes" he said, with the same tone.

"Do you know when you're gonna be back?" she asked, her voice small, hopeful.

"No. It's not a mission plan with a defined timeline, Rory. I'm not sure they know" he replied, giving her forehead a soft kiss.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath.

"I've got another couple of months of work for sure before I'm back here again" he added.

"How are you here now?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

He tilted his head slightly giving her a reverent look."I can't talk about it, Rory" he said simply, shaking his head softly.

She sighed.

"It's a bonus? For a completed mission?" she asked, pulling herself up slightly, to be able to look at him.

He held her gaze, his expression unchanged.

"Is it... was it something big? Dangerous?" she went on, urging him.

"Rory... I can't talk about it" he repeated, slower.

She nodded, closing her eyes.

"Rory" he started, but she cut him off.

"I get it. I understand. I just want to know you're okay. You can do that, right? You can call to let me know?" she asked, her eyes focused on his once again, her words frantic.

"Yeah" he breathed, surrendering.

"Okay. So, we're doing this" she said, her hands tightening over his body.

He took a deep breath, his face not completely unbothered.

She bit her lip, holding her breath as she waited for his answer, their eyes locked.

"We're doing this" he finally said, nodding, his face smoothing as if he had made a decision and his hands moved down to the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing, pulling it up gently.

She felt his fingers find her and she closed her eyes as she felt him probe her wetness.

He slipped his fingers into her, making her moan and she relaxed into the pillow behind her.

She smiled, feeling him eager against her.

"Shouldn't you be getting some rest while you're here?" she repeated her question from before, her voice breathy.

"I'm getting what I need" he replied, his determined voice making her break out into goosebumps.


	17. The dream was just the same

Author's note: Every review is a treat! Thank you all for giving me feedback.

* * *

She caught him watching her, his eyes focusing on her as she unpacked the takeout.

He'd been back all but a day and the approaching deadline of his departure was a constant warning in the back of her head, but she tried to shake the feeling off, determined to prove to him that she could do this, that this would work.

She thought he might like to go out, possibly enjoying to be on this side of the globe, but apparently, he was happy to stay inside the confines of her apartment. They only made a short trip to his apartment, getting some of his stuff.

"What?" she asked, still feeling his eyes on her.

He smirked, having been caught and shook his head, dropping his gaze to the iPad he was reading prior.

"When did you go to Burma?" he asked, his eyes focusing on the article she'd shown him after much prodding.

"A couple of months ago" she replied.

She took the food, burritos, to the couch and set the plates on the coffee table there.

He put the iPad away, his face contemplative.

"What?" she asked, wondering what had him so lost in thought.

"Jimmy wasn't with you?" he asked and she narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"No, he was working on something else. I went alone" she said, watching his face. He didn't seem like it was new information. She wondered for a second.

"Are you tailing Jimmy?" she asked, the thought suddenly taking shape in her head.

He cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze.

"You had Jimmy under surveillance" she said, a smile appearing on her face. It made her feel a peculiar sense of joy, knowing he was trying to keep tabs on her even when they were apart.

"Why didn't you just keep tabs on me?" she asked, teasing as her feet nudged him.

He ran his hand through his hair, contemplating his answer.

"I told them to stop surveilling you. I wasn't sure I wanted to know if…" he trailed off and she felt her cheeks warm. She understood, he had thought she'd be back to her old lifestyle and didn't want to get updates on whoever showed up on her doorsteps.

She nodded.

"Did they stop surveilling me then?" she asked, her voice amused.

"Probably not, they just don't give me updates" he replied, equally amused.

She chuckled leaning over to the coffee table to get their food.

"Are you being careful when you're traveling?" he asked, cautiously.

She looked at him, studying his face.

"Are you?" she asked with a small smile.

He rolled his eyes, reaching out to take a plate.

He smelled the food, the joy on his face childlike and she smiled as she watched him bite into the burrito.

"God" he sighed and she chuckled.

"You want to get a room with your burrito?" she asked as she settled into the couch, tucking her feet under her.

"I think I miss the food the most" he told her.

"How are you maintaining these muscles then?" she asked, her fingers tracing his biceps.

"I get food, just not the kind I'd like" he replied.

"They don't know the war on ISIS could be won with a couple of burgers?" she asked, her tone playful.

"Don't tell them, I'd be out of a job in a second" he replied, in between bites.

She smiled, enjoying the lighthearted banter, but her curiosity was like an itch. She watched him devour his food, nibbling away at her own.

"So how is that going?" she asked and he raised an eyebrow.

"The war on ISIS?" he asked with a cynical smirk. "Awesome, we're improving our quarterlies and are thinking of expanding into online retail as well."

She took a breath, a shaking her head as she tried to ignore his pointed joking.

"I read that there has been an incline in successful operations from the US army. That they are taking out top targets faster than ISIS can recruit" she went on, ignoring his tone.

She watched as he continued eating, not giving her any reaction.

"Is there a shift you think, like is this going to be total annihilation…" she moved closer.

"I'm not talking to you about this" he cut her off.

"You know this is off the record" she smiled.

"I'm not talking to you about this" he repeated.

"Why?" she asked, sighing.

"Do you want a list of reasons?" he asked raising a cynical eyebrow.

"We wanna be that couple? The one who has a bunch of things they have to avoid talking about?" she said dramatically.

"How is your grandma, Rory?" he said wryly.

She frowned.

"A grandma/ISIS analogy. Touché, DuGray" she gritted out.

She handed her leftovers over to him once he'd finished his and he gave her a scolding look.

"You are not eating properly" he said but took the rest of her food anyway, finishing it off in a couple of bites.

She took their plates to the kitchen and he went to the bathroom to wash up. She heard him reenter the room and smiled as she heard music starting to play. It was David Bowie.

"You like them oldies, don't you? Don't you miss listening to new stuff? Hearing it for the first time on the radio? Waiting for it to play again?" she asked.

"I hear plenty of new stuff from the guys. I listen to so much fucking country it makes my ears bleed. And David Bowie is not oldies, okay?" he snorted.

"It's not exactly hot off the shelves" she replied as she came back into the living room to rejoin him on the couch.

"That's... you know what? Let's not get into a music discussion, I like you too much" he brushed her off.

"Oh, this is a make or break topic?" she asked, straddling him.

He let his head rest back against the couch as his hands caressed her sides.

"Definitely" he replied, his voice hoarse.

She felt the eagerness in him, so quick to meet her own desire and it left her feeling conflicted, knowing it was a sign of their attraction but also their knowing time was ticking by.

She moved her hips slightly, creating some friction and he closed his eyes.

"What else do you miss?" she asked, choosing to focus on the desire rather than the brevity of their time together, her voice teasing as she felt her skin flush under his returning gaze.

She felt his hands slide to her hips and pull her closer. It made her breath falter, feeling him aroused beneath her.

She let out a ragged breath, her head dropping back.

She felt one of his hands caress her exposed neck, his fingers sliding back to tangle into her hair as he pulled her down for a kiss.

She felt his tongue caressing her lips and she sighed into the kiss.

"I miss that sigh" he murmured, in between kisses. "I miss you on top of me."

She moaned.

"Okay, so mostly sex stuff?" she murmured, voice cracking.

He chuckled as he released her and studied her above him.

"Right now, it's hard to think of other things?" he offered as the most plausible explanation.

"Yeah, I can tell" she said shifting in his lap and making him sigh as he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Swimming" he said as he opened his eyes.

"Swimming?" she asked surprised.

"I miss swimming" he repeated.

"We could do that" she said with a smile. "I mean you could do it and I could watch, because trust me, you don't want to see me in the water."

He kissed her again to stop her rambling.

"That's okay. Next time" he said.

It made her heart constrict, the way he said it, the looming deadline obscuring the desire for a second.

"I miss the smell of your sheets" he went on, probably to distract her.

"I don't know if that's a compliment or not" she pointed out.

"They smell like you" he went on, his voice smooth, giving her a thrill.

"So probably not a compliment?" she tried to continue her teasing, but her voice was hoarse.

"They smell like your skin and your hair and they remind me of what it feels to be surrounded by you" he went on.

She didn't have a comeback for that so she just smiled as his fingers caressed her tresses.

"Do you miss having to get up in the morning and go to work and come back home in the evening?" she asked, her tone hopeful.

He smiled.

"Do you?" he countered.

She sighed, her gaze dropping from his.

"I miss you" he said.

She smiled, nodding.

"You're more beautiful than I remembered" he murmured, barely audible and she locked eyes with him, her mind going hazy.

She leaned down to kiss him again, her hips moving against his and he groaned into her mouth. She tugged on his pants with sudden urgency and his hands went to his fly, undoing it as he lifted both their weights off the couch without much effort. She rose from his lap to quickly discard her jeans and underwear and returned to her prior position, straddling him as he closed his eyes, feeling her hot center against him.

"I think we're forgetting something" he breathed as she reached down to his lap grasping him.

He glanced towards the bag from the pharmacy on the counter.

"In a minute" she said kissing his neck, while she guided him towards her, obeying the overwhelming need barely winning out over the awakening anxiety inside her chest.

"Rory" he warned her but didn't resist as she positioned them, the feeling of her wetness making him inhale sharply.

"I just want to see how you feel" she murmured and sank down on him. She caught his eyes, flashing with an undeniable jolt of surprise and passion.

She sighed and heard him curse, his arms grasping her back as he held her in place.

She moved tentatively, lifting herself slightly and then sinking back down, their bodies moving in delicious friction.

"Shit, you're dripping wet" he murmured and she smiled, feeling what he was referring to, his length sliding into her smoothly.

"Did you miss this?" she asked as she moved, setting her own rhythm.

He opened his eyes, swimming in a misty haze and his face contorted as she let him slip to the hilt.

"Yes" he hissed.

"What did you miss about it?" she urged him.

He swallowed, his face deep in concentration as she moved over him.

"I missed the feeling of you wrapped around me. I missed the feel of your skin" he said, his hands sliding down to her bare legs "I missed you coming around my cock and squeezing it dry."

She smiled, hearing his description and feeling him deep within her.

"God I missed you" she moaned, letting her head drop back again as she enjoyed the shiver that ran down her body.

"Fuck, Rory" he cursed again and she sped up, feeling in control and lost at the same time.

"You feel incredible like this" she whispered and he cursed again.

"Shit, Rory, you need to slow down" he warned her, bringing his forehead to rest against hers as he concentrated on slowing his breathing. "Let me get a condom" he hissed.

"I'm so close" she gasped, thrusting down on him again.

"Yeah, me too. I'm gonna flood you with my cum if you don't give me a second to calm down" he gritted out tersely.

His words gave her a thrill and sent her over the edge. She cried out, contracting wildly as she rode out her orgasm with abandon, falling backwards.

When she opened her eyes, she felt him motionless above her, his one hand holding her to him while his other one supported them over the coffee table. His face was serious, contorted in a concentrated effort.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the end of me" he cursed and she felt him twitch inside her, still holding on.

She smiled, distancing herself from his hold and pushing him back down on the couch.

He cursed as he fell back, slipping from inside her and watched in a haze as she slid to the floor between the couch and the table.

"Rory" he called out her name, confused, but she didn't give him time to protest, her mouth clasping down around him.

"Oh, good god" he cried out, as she swallowed him up, feeling her own taste on him.

It took her all but a couple of strokes and he was grasping her hair with his fingers, dirty curses spilling from his mouth as he was coming down her throat in heavy spurts.

She looked up as she wiped her mouth, climbing back up into his lap as he let his head rest against the couch, his breathing ragged.

"Did you miss that?" she asked coyly and he laughed, his muscular chest rumbling against her, his face smooth, his eyes still closed.

"You being fucking reckless?" he murmured. "Yeah" he added, humming an affirmation.

* * *

She watched as he packed up the couple of things he had brought into his bag. He studied her bookshelf for a long time and pulled out a book, turning to her and showing it as if to silently ask for permission. She nodded, not trusting her voice and watched as he slipped the book into his bag.

"Where do you leave from?" she asked.

"The base" he replied, studying her face with a quiet worry. "You okay?" he asked, stepping close to her and reaching out to caress her arm.

"Yeah" she took a deep breath, forcing a nonchalant smile on her face. "Let me drive you" she said, surprising him.

"You don't drive" he pointed out.

She took another breath, setting her face and blinking rapidly, willing to control her emotions.

"I want to drive you" she said, emphasizing every word.

He studied her, his face showing worry.

"Okay" he replied, barely audible.

He looked around, not so much checking for leftover belongings but perhaps taking in the quiet disarray of the apartment.

They made their way out towards the back of the building, where his car stood, unmoved from where he had left it, seemingly worn by the wind and rain.

She opened the door and got in and he followed, sitting shotgun.

He watched as she adjusted the seat and checked her mirrors, taking a deep breath before hitting the ignition. The car roared to life easily despite having been parked for months and her heart launched into a race, anxiety flooding her. She took a deep breath, steadying her breathing with her hands on the steering wheel as pictures of her nightmares flashed before her eyes.

She closed her eyes, counting to herself. When she opened them again, she felt more calm and in control, despite the fact it was barely dawn and they had hardly gotten any sleep the night prior. She sighed. Sitting there now felt foreign, but doable. She could do this.

He watched her for long seconds before speaking cautiously.

"You want me to...?"

"No" she cut him off, putting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking spot.

He watched with a worried expression, then relaxed into the seat and regarding her from the corner of his eyes as she moved. She felt strange, almost as if she were floating, but the movements also came naturally, the car reacting easily to her actions. The traffic was light this early in the morning and they were on the freeway within minutes. He instructed her on the turns, but otherwise they were quiet during the ride. It was 30 minutes in when she realized she'd been driving without any anxiety or fear. Something she didn't think was possible. She caught him stealing glances at her every now and then but otherwise if he was worried about her first time driving in years, he didn't let on.

She saw the sign for Fort Maude and turned, pulling up to the barricaded gate.

"Can I just drive in?" she asked.

"Yeah, just pull up here" he said, pointing to the checkpoint.

A young officer ran out from the small building checking the license plate on his tablet.

"Sergeant major DuGray?" he asked, looking in through the window.

Rory looked at Tristan perplexed.

He showed no reaction, but nodded at the officer.

"Reporting" he said.

"And this is your escort?" the officer asked.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore" he replied.

"I'll need some ID" the officer said and Rory searched for her purse.

The officer took the ID and went to the booth, leaving the two of them alone.

She felt the silence settle over them as she felt a million questions screaming inside her chest.

"When were you made sergeant major?" she asked, her voice small.

"I thought you were gonna comment on you being an escort" he joked, trying to divert her attention but she wouldn't budge, her eyes intent on his profile.

"When I was relisted" he finally replied, the admission quiet.

"Does that mean... are you in charge of a Delta Force squadron?" she asked.

There was a beat of silence and she watched him shift in his seat to look at her.

"Rory, if you want me to give you classified info, you might want to ask me somewhere other than the checkpoint of my base" he replied and she rolled her eyes.

The officer returned, handing her back the ID and a visitor pass.

"Thank you" Tristan said and then motioned Rory to drive on.

"I might not need to ask you these questions if you'd be more forthcoming" she retorted.

"Straight through there, you can park on the side of that building" he pointed her in the right direction, ignoring her remarks.

She felt her chest constrict as she realized he'd be gone within minutes with their last interaction still weighing heavy on the mood.

She pulled the car into a spot and her attention was turned to two parking cars a little way off. One of them had a couple against the front door, the tall, muscular guy grinding against a petite, brunette, pixie haired woman obviously lost in their goodbyes.

The other car, facing them, had a woman in the driver seat and two small kids who were holding onto a man leaning into the window to give them each a kiss.

"I'm sorry" he said, and it startled her for a second, suddenly realizing he'd been looking at her profile while she was lost in studying the goodbye exchanges.

"For not telling you" he clarified and she turned towards him, his eyes conveying honesty and something else she couldn't quite grasp.

"I was gonna tell you... I was gonna tell you so many things" he said, his fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, as he often did.

"But I got distracted" he went on with a slow smile.

She blushed, her gaze dropping as she leaned into his palm by the side of her face.

"I'm glad I got to see you" she said, looking up at him again. "You'll tell me next time."

He nodded.

"You're gonna be okay on your way back?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Yeah," she said, "don't worry about it."

He looked at her silently for a couple of seconds, his face not showing any emotions and she felt her chest slowly constrict, feeling the weight of his departure.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" she whispered, not trusting her voice.

He nodded, not promising anything, she noted.

"Come here" he said and she leaned into him, meeting his lips in a fervent kiss.

She felt his hand on the back of her neck and his tongue caressing hers as he kissed her deeply.

She felt him sigh as he finished the kiss, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

"I'll call you" he said, and she heard the click of the door.

She nodded, not trusting her voice while her face was still burning from the heat of his kiss.

She watched as he got out and walked towards the building, not looking back.

He called out to the two others, with calm words and they reacted instantly, finishing their goodbyes and falling into line behind him as they disappeared inside the building.

Rory felt someone watching her and she tore her eyes away from the building, meeting the woman's eyes in the car with the kids.

The blonde woman smiled and did a little wave and she felt herself return the smile reflexively.

* * *

She was back to her building without even realizing she had been driving.

She stopped the car next to the sidewalk and sat there quietly for a couple of minutes as her hands gripped the steering wheel.

She thought of the woman with the kids and she suddenly felt an urge to restart the car.

She took her cell phone out and opened the navigation app she used, trying to search her memory for the exact location she had in mind. She finally found the town and set the phone down next to the center console, letting the mechanical voice guide her.

She drove for hours in the early morning and by the time she got to her destination, it was 11 am. She pulled into town just as church was letting out and she wondered for the first time whether it was inappropriate for her to just show up like this.

She drove around the streets, not remembering her exact destination, but then she recognized the large oak tree that she admired next to the house Tristan took her to.

"Rory" she heard Charlotte exclaim as she parked the car by the curb.

She got out of the car and looked at the woman, obviously just back from church, dressed in a white sheet dress.

"Hey Charlotte" she called out. "Sorry to drop in. I didn't have your number."

The woman walked up to her, her face a carefully controlled mask.

"It's no problem. Is everything okay?" she asked, eying her wearily. "Is Tristan okay?"

"Yeah" she replied quickly, realizing what her showing up here alone must have meant to Charlotte "He's good. He's..."

"Back to work?" Charlotte asked, a knowing flash of sadness in her eyes.

Rory nodded, feeling lost. She suddenly wanted to step forward, step into the arms of this beautiful and stoic woman she had barely known.

"You want to come in for tea?" Charlotte asked and Rory smiled, thankful.

* * *

"He went back to work last fall, he got made sergeant major" she said, trying to smile, but even she could tell how untrue it looked on her face.

Charlotte looked at her with a pained expression. She felt something in her gaze. Worry, compassion, but also guilt.

"Did you know?" she asked, her hunch proving her right when Charlotte sighed.

"He came to see us in September," she explained, "he told me then."

"Right" she swallowed, her throat constricting.

"Rory" Charlotte called out to her, her long fingers touching her arm and squeezing gently as she leaned closer, "I know he loves you, but I think he's worried to draw you into this life."

She looked up at her, her lips twisting into a bittersweet smile.

"I think it's a little late for that" she shook her head, blinking back tears.

"I think he expected you to change your mind, to give you time to think while he went back. This is who he is and not everyone is cut out to assist in this madness" she explained, her choice of words surprising her.

She blinked at Charlotte, shock present on her face.

"Oh yeah," she nodded, "I do think it's madness. I always have. But I also saw it was what he wanted. What he lived for. And frankly, I'd rather have someone with a conviction than someone alive and drifting through life" she explained.

Rory listened to her voice, deep and rich and reassuring even if she couldn't quite grasp the meaning of everything she was describing. Charlotte went on, her face lost in thought.

"But it was different for us. I knew him since we were 17. I saw how he chose this way of life and we made the decisions together. I knew what I was getting into" she said, watching Rory intently.

"You... I think there's a lot of emotions between you two, a lot of desire... a strong pull, but I think he's worried for you to be making a commitment to him and giving up so much based on..." she trailed off, as if not quite knowing how to express herself.

"Based on what we have?" Rory finished the sentence, her eyes falling to her hands in her lap.

Charlotte shook her head, her hand squeezing hers.

"Rory. You didn't know him before" she said and Rory looked up to see the honesty in her eyes. "He was untouchable. He was emotionless. The way he looks at you... he loves you. I have no doubt in my mind. But I think he wants more for you than he can give" Charlotte said, her face worried.

"What if I don't want more? What if this is what I want?" Rory asked, looking at her.

"I think that's great" she smiled, her beautiful face softening.

Rory watched her, this beautiful, graceful creature, so earnest and wise. She wished she had her calm, her quiet acceptance.

"Would you choose differently? Knowing the outcome?" Rory asked, swallowing hard.

"Not a doubt in my mind, I would choose him over and over again" Charlotte said without missing a beat.

She nodded, this time letting the tears fall.

"I… we spent days together and he didn't even tell me he was in charge. He should be able to share that… I know he doesn't like to talk about what's happening there, that he can't, but… he must have wanted to share that, no?" she whispered.

Charlotte sighed.

"This job... it's... I never knew if he'd tell me anything, even where he was. The phone calls, even when he called regularly, it was never him on the phone, you know? They are monitored, so he always had his guard up. It was better when he came home, but even then, it would be random" she recounted, her eyes drifting off into the distance.

"Sometimes he'd come back on a high, others he'd be withdrawn and I'd have to wait patiently until the man I knew returned to his body. Sometimes he'd start talking without me probing and sometimes he'd be a brick wall. Sharing… it's something they're taught to not need. And that makes a relationship difficult. But he's still him and you are still you. Your connection is real. That's how it was for us. I just had to accept it and trust that he would be, after every mission, committed to finding his way back to me" Charlotte finished her speech and Rory sighed, the words reassuring her and worrying her at the same time.

She wondered if she'd ever have Charlotte's grace and humility, she wondered if she'd ever be so great with acceptance. She feared not.

* * *

She looked at the phone in her hand, the screen showing the caller as an unknown number and her heart raced instantly.

"Hello?" she answered the call, her voice sounding small and hopeful at the same time.

"Hey" she heard his voice on the other end, strong and determined. She closed her eyes, exhaling a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"Hey," she replied, "where are you calling from?"

He chuckled.

"I feel like you're already tracing the call and contacting your sources on the other line" he mused.

She smiled into the phone. His voice was calm, with a lightness that made her feel easier.

"You figured me out. It was after all an elaborate plan to score an insider source that can help me shill out breaking military op-eds weekly" she spoke into the phone, her voice dramatic and cynical.

"I thought you were done with DC commentary and are more focused on National Geographic" he retorted.

She laughed, the tension breaking from her chest.

"You saw they printed my gypsy story?" she asked, referring to the story that had been drifting from edit to edit for the past year. She remembered she had told him about it on one of their first dates, the idea of faith and destiny being one of their first conversation topics.

"Yeah, I liked the personal touch. I'm sure Bag boy will appreciate it" he replied, his voice easy.

"It's Dean" she scolded. "And I doubt he reads National Geographic" she shook her head.

"Who does read National Geographic?" he deadpanned.

"My grandmother does. She left a seething message on my cell about how she has to read it in order to get any sign of life from me" she sighed wistfully, the joke rolling off her tongue easily despite the fact that the message left her feeling raw and exposed, her next nights spent with versions of her reoccurring nightmare.

"I thought you were gonna try..." he pleaded softly and she sighed, remembering how he had probed her about it while he was home.

"Yeah, I changed my mind. That last phone call we had made me dry heave for days, so..." she trailed off as she listened to him sigh deeply.

"Rory" he said her name, his voice deep, the phone almost resonating in her ear with his intonation.

She closed her eyes, letting that voice penetrate into her body, her senses, her soul.

"God, I missed your voice" she breathed out.

There was silence on the other end of the line and she held her breath, thinking it might have disconnected.

"I miss you" he said, his words simple, seemingly without any effort.

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

He chuckled.

"Yeah" he murmured, and his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

"I miss you too" she said.

"When are you leaving for Norway?" he asked.

"How do you know I'm going to Norway?" she asked, confused. She'd been planing the trip for a couple of weeks, but she didn't recall telling him about it during the short three days they got to spend together.

"I talked to James before I left" he confessed.

"James?" she asked, still confused. "Jimmy? When did you talk to Jimmy?"

"Before I left. I called him" he replied, his voice slightly guilty.

She wrecked her brain trying to think of when he even had the opportunity to call him, but she came up short, since they had spent literally every minute together, save those she spent in the bathroom.

"Ookay?" she said, urging him to go on.

"I just wanted to ask him to keep an eye on you" he elaborated.

"Keep an eye on me? Like a chaperone?" she asked, incredulous.

"More like a bodyguard" he clarified.

She snorted into the phone.

"Alright. Well let's hope the Norwegian reindeer piece isn't going to need a lot of high level bodyguarding."

He chuckled and the sound made her face warm. It felt so intimate even through the static of the phone call.

"What do you see now?" she asked him, closing her eyes.

There was a beat of quiet on the line.

"The sun is just setting. There has been wind the past couple of days and it brings in sand from the desert. It makes the sunsets incredible. Everything is melting into an orange glow" he said, his voice a soft murmur.

"That sounds nice" she said.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "it actually does."

She heard someone call out distantly from his side of the line and then muffled voices, as though he were blocking the receiver.

"Rory?" he asked, when his voice came back.

"Yeah?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I gotta go" he said, his voice serious.

"Okay" she whispered.

"I'll call you later. Take care. Reindeer bite" came his voice.

She smiled as she heard the line go dead.


	18. Dreamed your dream for you

Author's note: Thank you all for sticking around for this story. I know it's heavy sometimes, but I'm always so happy you guys are interested and rooting for these two. I love to read your reviews, so please let me know what you think.

* * *

She sighed as she was met with the familiar scene, the trees, the light coming from beyond, the voices ever present. She felt a sense of nostalgia almost, the dread she used to feel lulling into some dull ache even as she neared what she knew to be the conclusion of the dream, the break in the forest.

As she stepped out of the shade, she had to close her eyes, the setting sun too bright for her to look at.

"Rory" she heard her voice, but when she opened her eyes to see her, it was Tristan standing in the middle of the clearing, bathed in the blood red light.

* * *

She'd made her trips more frequent, squeezing out pieces weekly.

Somehow it felt good to be on the move, not because she wanted to be distracted, but because she felt full of energy, something she only felt right after she came back from the double funeral all those years ago. Back then it took her a while to be able to slow down, to be able to stay in her apartment in DC for longer than a couple of days before she felt that ache intensify.

Now it wasn't so much an ache, as a restlessness.

Time was something she had an abundance of and she felt like she had to fill it with things, meetings, interviews, places, in order for it to move sluggishly forward so that she could find a moment of relief when there would be a message, a call, a sign of life from him.

She still found herself researching military news ever so often, trying to piece together a picture in her head from small bits of information he shared. It was never much and she didn't push, remembering Charlotte's wisdom.

She worked constantly and it helped, because two months flew by seamlessly. He came home to D.C. in April for a full five days, but he only let her know a day prior, making her want to drop everything and fly back from Rio right away.

When she arrived, she knew she'd gotten there after him, because she heard Dire Straits when she was ascending the stairs to her apartment.

She opened the door to find him emerge from her bedroom with a wide smile, his hair shorter than she remembered it last time.

"Hey," he laughed, "I was hoping you'd still be wearing your bikini."

"I wasn't reporting on beachwear, I was researching a drug cartel" she rolled her eyes as she launched into his arm, kissing him marveling at her body's instant enthusiasm, the two months of longing and fantasizing priming her for the reunion.

His lips were soft and eager, but he only kissed her for a second before he broke away, keeping her at arm's length.

"You what?" he asked, his breathing heavy and his face shocked.

She looked at him perplexed, realizing he was referring to the story.

"Can we talk about it after you've fucked me?" she mewled sliding up his side to kiss his neck.

"Why are you researching a drug cartel?" he asked, his voice tense even though she felt his body react to her ministrations.

Her hands went to his fly, feeling the bulge there, reveling in the fact that his need matched hers and she moaned as she closed her eyes in anticipation.

"Nevermind. I was researching beach wear. Cutouts will be big this year" she murmured as her hands undid his belt buckle.

"Rory" he scolded her, but his voice was deep with want.

"Fuck first, lecture later" she breathed as she finally felt him give in, lifting her to support her as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

"Fine, let me get a condom" he chuckled, carrying her into the bedroom and dropping her down on the bed.

"You don't have to" she said, her words self conscious as she watched him undress quickly.

He was pulling his shirt off and she took a deep breath, loving the look of his tanned and ripped body. He looked at her questioning as he stepped out of his pants.

"I'm taking a pill now" she explained.

He froze, standing there studying her in his naked glory. She saw his eyes focus on her, his face showing surprise.

"I thought it would make it more convenient" she shrugged, suddenly blushing.

There was a faint smile on his face as he moved slowly to join her on the bed.

"I also did a test, in case you're worried" she informed him. "I know they make you do one twice a year" she went on, knowing she was rambling.

"You went on the pill?" he asked, his voice so deep and aroused it surprised her.

She nodded, as she felt him bunch up her skirt.

"Why?" he asked her, his voice deep with want and it made her stomach flip.

Somehow, she knew he wasn't looking for the rationalization of the thought process.

"So I can feel you" she whispered, loving the way his eyes flashed with lust when she did.

"I'm going to fuck you now" he said, his voice a deep growl as he buried his face in her hair to whisper in her ear, while she felt his hand pull down her panties.

"I'm going to fill you with my cum" he went on, his words a vibrating baritone, making her moan out loud.

"And then we're going to talk about this researching cartels nonsense."

She chuckled but the sound died on her lips as she felt him slip into her, his warm hardness stretching her to pleasure.

She closed her eyes, letting out a strangled curse as she adjusted to his length, her stomach trembling lightly at the sensation, her legs going around his waist. She urged him to move, her center throbbing with the incredible need that instantly built inside her when she saw him.

"You wanted to feel me?" he asked, his voice laced with arousal and she shivered at the tone.

"Yes" she hissed as she felt him thrust into her.

"Do you know how good you feel around me like this?" he asked and she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt his next thrust.

"Look at me" he said, his voice thick and she inhaled sharply, forcing her eyes open to look at his.

His pupils were dilated to the extreme, his shallow pants warming her face.

"You need to see what you do to me" he said, thrusting into her, entirely too controlled for her liking, the sensation not nearly enough, but making her cry out in pleasure and leaving her wanting more.

His hands brushed back her hair, framing her face and he moved again, sighing softly.

"What do I do to you?" she asked, her hands digging into the muscles of his side, silently urging him to speed up as she accommodated his slow and steady thrusts.

"You unravel me" he said with a small smirk, his breath coming out in a small puff, his hips jerking forward as he went deep.

She moaned again, closing her eyes as the sensation built up inside her quickly.

"Eyes on me" he said and she shivered, his quiet order making her stomach flip.

"I want to see it when you come," he whispered, thrusting into her faster and deeper, "I want to feel it on my cock."

She cried out at his words, her center contracting wildly around him and she kept her eyes on him even as the pleasure was too overwhelming.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous" he said, his thrusts becoming erratic as she squeezed around him and she felt him spill inside her with a guttural cry.

* * *

He was there and then he wasn't, the days passing so quickly as if in a blur. She felt as if she were riding a current, holding her breath and letting the experience wash over her, but when he was gone and she was left alone in her apartment, with her heart still beating faster, she felt dread creep back into her bones.

She kept herself occupied and lined up projects after projects, always keeping it in mind to be able to cancel at the last minute just in case he would be able to be back for a short time.

She liked remote locations now. Before the more people surrounded her, with the more noise, the better; now she liked solitude. She enjoyed long walks and exploring scenery because she found it cleared her mind and she felt silence and peace even when thinking of him.

She went to Scotland, because she always wanted to see Skye. And then Iceland, trekking down treacherous paths to find waterfalls that took her breath away. She went on a 5 day trip on the Trans-Siberian express, Jimmy nagging her about wanting to finally have a trip where he wouldn't be subjected to the very real dangers of toes being frozen off.

She amused herself with the thought that she was now literally a National Geographic contributor, to Tristan's approval. He gave her a hard time about the South American drug cartel story, telling Jimmy he was 'disappointed' in him when they met up for dinner one night they actually managed to leave her bed.

She rolled her eyes, as she watched Jimmy stutter under his scolding gaze, but she did favor lighter, albeit interesting subject matter from then on. It was easier to rearrange trips that didn't involve a lot of elaborate prepping.

He called her about twice a week and she made sure that her cell had reception everywhere they went. The calls were sometimes lighthearted, sometimes rocky, just like Charlotte foretold. It was a sign to her when he would call when she was out on a lone walk, the wind blowing her face raw while she imagined his being burned by the sun. She would feel incredibly connected, sometimes just listening to him breathe on the other end. But sometimes the timing or their vibes would be off, or she'd be in a crowded restaurant or unable to get to a quiet place in order to have a peaceful conversation with him. It always unnerved him, and she couldn't keep him long enough on the phone.

She was in New York, meeting with an editor when he called her letting her know he'd be back in a couple of days.

"Really?" she asked, her excitement showing in her tone.

"Yeah, I just need a day or two to wrap up here" he said vaguely, his voice distracted.

She bit her lip to reel herself in.

"Okay," she said, making her voice match his, "do you need me to get you?"

He sighed.

"Yeah, I guess" he hesitated. "I'll call you when I get in."

"Tristan?" she asked, her voice uncertain.

"Yeah?" came his reply.

"Are you okay?" she asked with worry.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry, I'm distracted. I'll see you soon, okay?"

She nodded, hearing the line go dead.

* * *

She drove to the base when he called to let her know he'd arrived.

His tone was clipped, strained even and it made her worry.

She waited through the check-in patiently and drove to the building she'd been becoming familiar with. She spotted him right away, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She parked the car and watched him as he talked with a group of guys. They all looked worn, but healthy. His hair was long, a dirty blonde, and his face was covered with a beard.

He spotted her, showing no reaction, but wrapped up his conversation quickly, patting one of the guys in the back and waving to the others.

He walked towards her, dressed in boots, cargo pants and a shirt.

He got into the car, giving her a quick kiss, his fingers tangling into her hair.

He broke off, entirely too soon for her liking, but kept his arm on her shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair.

"Let's get out of here. I need a shower" he sighed.

"You okay?" she asked as she drove towards the exit.

"I'm fine" he brushed her off, relaxing into the seat with a heavy sigh.

He looked exhausted, and she let him drift off to sleep as she drove silently.

* * *

She unpacked the take out boxes as she listened to the shower run. He'd been in there a while, but she figured it felt good to him to stand under the warm spray.

She was surprised by his mood, so different from the last time he had come back. Then he had been playful and uninhibited. She shivered thinking of the first time he had taken her, fast and raw, making her come apart in minutes.

She felt guilty for contributing so much to the difference in his mood now and she sighed trying to clear her mind.

She switched the TV on, letting the lull of the monotone noises calm her nerves.

She looked up suddenly as she caught a word, her attention instantly redirected.

She reached for the remote again, raising the volume to be able to understand.

" _... was confirmed by the White House. Special Forces took part in the raid, resulting in the capture of Khattala, a mastermind behind the Benghazi attack. The compound had been under surveillance for months and the attack was carried out in a coordinated effort with UN Special Forces..._ "

She turned as she heard him clear his throat. He was standing in the doorway, a towel around his waist, his bare chest still shining with droplets of water. She noted that he'd shaved, and the skin was lighter where he used to have the beard.

Her eyes scanned his body seeing no new scars and she was strangely relieved but also uneasy, as though she were caught spying.

" _The attack has been criticized because Libyan sources claim there have been extensive civilian losses, including women and children. As a result, a briefing is scheduled..._ "

He walked over to her, taking the remote from her hand and putting the TV on silent as he walked to the counter to inspect the food.

She followed him.

"You hungry? I ordered burgers" she asked, trying to keep her voice nonchalant.

He smiled and nodded. She noted that the smile didn't reach his eyes and that he was avoiding her gaze.

"I need to go back to my place to get some stuff" he said, his voice calm.

"Oh" she said, hating how disappointed it sounded.

She rose onto her toes, her fingers finding his car keys on the shelf on the wall of the kitchen.

"Here, I had the oil changed" she added as she sat down.

He looked at her, his eyes studying her with a sudden curiosity.

"You've been using it?" he asked.

She looked up, meeting his searching gaze.

"Sometimes," she shrugged, "is that not okay?"

"No, of course. I'm glad you are" he said with a mechanical smile, leaning forward to catch her hand with his.

She watched as he intertwined their fingers, feeling his warm digits and she realized it was the first time he'd touched her since he'd been back.

"Are you gonna stay at your place?" she asked, glancing up. She felt self conscious, asking the question, knowing he preferred to stay at her place and only venture back to his apartment if she was not back from assignment by the time he was, but his mood now felt different and she wondered if he'd appreciate the space.

"No... I mean... do you want me to?" he furrowed his brows and she felt instant relief realizing he wasn't in need of space.

She shook her head, keeping herself from smiling.

"No, I just thought that's what you meant" she said softly.

"No. I said I needed to get some stuff. I'm just gonna be an hour" he said, his words deliberately slow as if he were talking to a child.

She felt the currents of anxiety from him, so unlikely for him, making their way into his words, his expressions and she felt herself shrink back in reaction, her words careful, placating. She wondered if this was one of the situations Charlotte was alluding to. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"Okay. How long do you have in town?" she asked, her voice insecure.

He looked at her, silent for long seconds.

"It might be a while. I have some meetings Monday. And I'm guessing they're grounding us for a while" he murmured.

"Why?" she asked, her eyes unconsciously glancing to the TV set. She knew why, but played the game anyway, trying to make sure he knew that if he wanted to share, if he was ready to share, he would have the option.

"Politics," he shrugged, "it's how things work."

Obviously, he didn't want to share.

In her mind, the picture was already starting to take shape. She concentrated trying to piece together the tidbits of information, her chest constricting with a strange anxiety.

She felt a weird mix of fear and worry, but also relief knowing he'd be around for a while. It was a debilitating feeling, wanting to support him but not push him. She took another breath.

"Okay, so then maybe you should get all your stuff" she said, her voice surprisingly steady and he looked at her astonished. There was a silence as they looked at each other and she wondered if it was the right way to distract him.

"Unless you want to go there every other day" she shrugged, her gaze dropping.

"You don't have any assignments coming up?" he asked, his tone suspicious.

"No, not really" she lied and turned away to get napkins as she felt his searching gaze on her.

"I don't really see why you keep that place anyway" she added, trying to make her voice as nonchalant as possible.

There was silence again and she turned back to find him studying her, his face serious.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"What do you think I'm saying?" she sighed, exasperated.

"I think you're asking me to move in" he calmly stated, his gaze studying her. She suddenly felt like her method of distraction, her attempt at trying to show him support, possibly made things worst.

"Well you're not gonna bump up my utility bill with the amount of time you spend in the country" she said, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter as his hands covered his mouth.

She sighed, feeling stupid for the joke.

"I'm not sure this is what you want, Rory" he said wearily and she felt the tone shift. She felt uneasy suddenly, because from her trying to shake him off his closed off mood they somehow managed to get thrown into a discussion that she thought his current mindset would definitely not influence favorably.

"I'm offering because it's what I want. I'm not sure it's what I want or don't want that's the problem here" she retorted.

They stared at each other, her heart beating in her throat as she watched him study her.

When he finally spoke, his tone was calm, his words unrushed.

"I want as much as you're willing to give, you know that."

It made her take a shaky breath, her stomach flipping slightly.

"Alright. That's settled then" she said, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

He watched her for a second, then nodded.

She watched as he rose, grabbing the keys off the counter.

"You're not gonna eat?" she asked.

"Later" he replied, kissing the top of her head as he passed her.

She heard him go back into the bedroom, getting dressed.

She took her phone, typing up an email cancelling her next trip quickly before she sighed and started repacking the untouched burger in front of her.

* * *

He really was back in an hour, bringing in a stuffed duffel bag, a garment bag, a couple of boxes and what looked to be a sound system.

She eyed him from the couch as he set the sound system in the corner of the room and connected her phone with it, Tom Petty filling the room within seconds.

She chuckled taking the garment bag and hanging it into the closet in her bedroom, feeling his dress blues with the extensive decorations under the plastic of the bag.

She came back outside to find him pushing a box under the kitchen counter.

"What's that?" she asked as he looked up, as if caught in an act.

"Nothing, I'll take that to the base" he said scratching his head and she lifted her eyebrow, curious.

"Oh come on, tell me, what's in the box?" she urged him, stepping up to the counter and scooting down to see.

He pulled the box away from her reach, his face serious.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, incredulous. "What could it be, your guns?"

"A coffee maker" he finally said, his face tensing as he studied her reaction.

Her smile froze as his gaze landed on her and she could imagine why.

She felt the blood drain from her face, even the word eliciting memories that rushed her, threatening to unleash chaos in her mind.

She thought it almost comical, the fact that she could function and live and work as a normal human being, but something so mundane, something so ridiculously simple could render her useless.

"Rory?" he heard him ask and then felt him taking her hands, directing her attention to him and she realized her sight had gone black, now that it was slowly returning along with her hearing that was obscured by a high pitched ringing in her ear.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd take it to the base, it was stupid to bring it inside" he said, his expression worried.

"No, it's alright" she said, shaking her head vigorously, feeling in control of her senses again. "It's silly," she shrugged, "coffee is just tied to her in my head, you know?" she said, her voice breaking slightly even though she tried to steel her exterior.

He nodded knowingly and she realized he must have figured it all out from the get-go, what with her constant search for a caffeinated drink that didn't make her want to vomit. He pulled her into a strong hug, kissing her forehead.

"I'm sorry" he whispered, moving to the counter to kick the box under it.

She sighed, closing her eyes and willing her voice to be nonchalant.

"I think you should keep it here" she murmured into his chest.

"I don't need this here," he shrugged, "there's a fucking Starbucks in this country every 50 feet."

She pulled away to look at his face, seeing so much worry it unnerved her.

"Leave it," she said, "it's fine."

"Rory" he sighed.

"I said it's fine" she cut him off, her voice surprisingly strong even to herself.

"Okay" he said, still regarding her wearily.

"I put your food in the oven, it should be warm. Eat. You haven't had anything since you came back" she scolded him.

He nodded, doing as he was told.

She went into the bedroom and busied herself with making room for him in the closet. She unzipped the duffel bag, taking out clothes and placing them on the emptied shelves and hangers.

She finished and found him watching her, leaning against the bedroom door frame.

The light was already fading outside, the late spring day coming to an end.

"I missed you" he said and she felt a heavy sigh escape her, as though some weight had been lifted off of her.

"I missed you too" she replied, not making a move.

"I'll have to go in early tomorrow" he said with a sudden segueway.

"Okay" she nodded, still not moving.

"Are you going to be questioned?" she asked and his eyes flashed to hers.

She stood in his gaze not saying anything more.

"This is standard procedure" he offered.

"Your mood doesn't feel like it is" she replied, pointing out the obvious.

"We did everything as planned. My guys did well. And we know that there has to be procedures when anyone questions anything. But there is nothing to worry about. It was by the book" he said and she wondered if he was reassuring her or himself.

She listened to his every word, holding her breath, realizing it was the first time he shared so much about his work.

She turned back to the closet, folding up some clothes she'd rearranged.

"Does that happen a lot? Civilian casualties?" she asked, not looking back at him, not sure if he'd acknowledge her question at all.

"It happens all the time. This isn't a traditional war, Rory" came his reply, his voice solemn.

She stopped, waiting for him to go on.

When he did, his voice came from closer and she realized he was standing next to the closet now.

"We are not fighting people in uniforms. They tell us the targets and sometimes it's a guy with guns surrounded by children and sometimes it's a child barely old enough to be in high school. If you stop to ponder that, that kid you were unsure of? He'll shoot you in the head" he went on.

She turned around studying his face for signs of conflict. She couldn't pinpoint it but she did see he was weary and tired despite having slept for a good 18 hours after he collapsed into bed when they arrived home last night.

"I'm sorry" she said wanting to reach out but stopping herself not knowing what he needed. "It doesn't sound simple" she furrowed her brows.

"It's the job" he replied.

She nodded, turning back to the clothes.

She stopped when she felt his arm snake around her waist.

"I don't want to talk to you about this" he said.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice only a whisper.

"I don't want it to be your burden" he replied, his forehead resting against the back of her head.

"It's not a burden when you talk to me. But it is if you don't" she sighed, shaking her head lightly as she closed her eyes.

"I don't know how to tell you all of this. Some of these things... I can't justify them" he said, his arms caressing her lightly.

"I understand your job, Tristan, I've accepted it. I'm not here to judge you for it" she said, holding her breath to wait for his reaction.

He sighed.

"I don't want you to hate me" he whispered into her hair. She closed her eyes, the feel of his breath on her neck electrifying. She let her fingers intertwine with his on her stomach.

"I could never hate you" she whispered.

One of his hands moved from her stomach to her hair, moving it to the side, and she now felt his breath on her neck, the feeling making her close her eyes again.

"Do you mean that?" he asked, his voice husky.

She felt his lips skim her neck and she shivered at the sensation.

"Yes" she replied, the word cracking as she felt him kiss her neck.

His hands moved down her body, lifting her robe until his fingers grazed her bare skin, sending a shiver through her.

She released a soft moan and it made him mold to her, his need pressing into her back.

"I missed you" she repeated her admission from before, this time her meaning more sensual and she heard a low growl rumble in his chest against her back.

She felt his hand move over hers, guiding her to steady herself against the shelves of the closet, his legs nudging hers to part them gently but firmly.

Her breathing hitched as she felt him guide her forward, balancing her weight against her arms on the shelves.

His hands moved, undoing her robe and guiding it off her arms, one by one, letting it flutter to the ground. He repositioned her arms and his hands trailed down her side, coming to ease her panties off her.

She felt him scoot down to his knees behind her as he helped her step out of the underwear, his tongue making her yelp out in surprise as he made his way back up to his prior position.

She heard him undo his pants and felt his fingers snake back around to her sex.

His fingers found her clit as she felt his naked body flush against her back. She shivered feeling him putting light pressure on her aching center and she moved her legs wider, giving him access.

"Fuck, I missed you" he cursed, his words barely audible as his fingers moved down, feeling her wetness.

She whimpered as he guided himself into her, the two of them exhaling in unison as he slipped in to the hilt.

His hand caressed the side of her body, coming to rest on her hips and she braced herself as he started to thrust.

His rhythm was maddening, strong and evenly paced even as her body reacted to him, her slick heat growing by the minute.

She couldn't help the moan breaking from her lips, her nails sinking into the wood of the shelves.

"Tell me if I'm too rough" he gritted out between thrusts and she moaned again, her body already floating from pleasure.

"You're not rough enough" she sighed, smiling as he cursed in response, his thrusts becoming even harder.

His hand came back front to find her clit again and she exploded instantly, her spasms coaxing him over the edge as well.

They collapsed to the floor, his hands roaming her body as if he were checking for damage.

She smiled, his familiar routine lulling the anxiety in her chest.

"See? It's not so bad living with me?" she chuckled.

"I might never leave" he replied, pulling her to face him so he could kiss her.

* * *

They both knew promises of never leaving were frivolous and after a tense couple of weeks where she saw him a lot in his dress blues, coming and going to meetings and hearings, he was leaving for assignment again.

Living with him turned out to be bittersweet. Most of the time she felt like she was living with a ghost, never knowing if she would find him home when she got back from one of her trips. More often than not, he wasn't there and she only found his clothes hanging in a small secluded corner of her closet, his CD's behind the couch, his books mingled with hers.

But sometimes he'd be home when she arrived, without prior announcement, soft music playing in the apartment as she opened the door and dropped her suitcase, happiness spreading inside her uncontrollably.

He insisted on paying half of the bills, setting up a transfer for her every month, even if he wasn't even home that particular month. It made her feel ridiculous and she told him so, but he brushed it off. The transfers were from a T. Knight and she asked him about the whole separate identity.

"Am I a liability to you?" she asked one day when he was home, sitting on the couch as if it were an everyday occurrence.

He was reading, something she found out he did quite often, his feet propped up on the table and he closed the book with an amused smirk on his face.

"Always. But what specifically are you referring to?" he asked.

"I've never seen you use your real name officially anywhere. But I knew it. And the people in my life know it" she pointed out.

"You mean Logan and your grandmother?" he asked.

She pondered and realized that was the extent of it, they never got passed first names with her dad.

"Yeah, but if my grandmother knows... the whole of Hartford knows" she thought out loud.

"Yeah," he sighed, "no worries, I've got eyes on all of them" he said with an overdramatic squint of his eyes.

She moved to sit down across from him in the armchair, clearly not amused. He smiled, his hand reaching out to caress her face.

"You're not exactly a liability with the amount of contact you have with the people from your past. And what does it matter if a couple of old gossips mention my name once or twice?" he asked softly.

"Is it required for a Delta operator to have a fake identity?" she asked and his expression became calm, like it usually did when he was participating in a conversation where he wanted to show the least possible amount of emotion.

"Yes" he replied.

"Should I not know you are one?" she asked.

"It's hard to keep it a secret from significant others" he replied and a slow smile spread on his lips as he regarded her.

She blushed, her gaze dropping momentarily.

"Is that why most of you don't have significant others?" she went on with her questions.

"Where do you get your intel?" he chuckled and she realized she didn't really have first hand info. She never met any of the people he worked with, but saw them sometimes when she dropped him off or picked him up. She remembered the blonde woman with the kids, and the petite dark haired girl.

"Is that why _you_ didn't have a significant other?" she rephrased her question.

He smirked, taking a deep breath and glancing around the room.

"No. I..." he faltered, clearly at a loss, "I guess I just didn't connect with anyone like that. I was focused on my work. Getting to be the best at what I do. It was hard to go on dates and then try to explain why you disappeared for months at a time. Most chicks don't dig that. So, I just... you know" he trailed off.

"Had one night stands?" she asked cocking her head.

He exhaled an uncomfortable breath.

"For a while, yeah. But it was rarely worth the trouble" he replied.

"You're not a fan of sex?" she arched an unbelieving eyebrow.

"I'm a huge fan of sex. When it's sex like we have" he said, his voice dropping. "In my experience, that's pretty rare though."

He watched her, his eyes becoming intent and she felt herself blush again.

She knew what he was referring to. The two of them together were explosive.

"So," she took a breath, trying to stay focused, "as your significant other, am I entitled to some insider info?" she asked, her tone playful.

He watched her with a curious gaze.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice careful.

"I just wanna get some scoop. Like how does it work? Do you hang out at a base in your tanks and then an alarm goes off and you jump into your tactical gear and race towards danger?" she said, her tone playful.

"God woman, what do you think I do on a mission?" he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I imagine you sneaking through the tall grass while 'All along the watchtower' plays" she said, her hands mapping out the scene.

"Yeah, we don't play that anymore, we find it tips off the enemy" he replied wryly.

"And communicate to each other with hand signals" she went on, unaffected.

"There might be some hand signals, yes" he said, his hand massaging his eyes.

"You break into compounds and free hostages, who jump into your arms relieved" she went on, her words dramatic.

"There is no relief. A lot of pissing themselves while scrambling on the floor. Very little hugging" came his reaction.

"And then you ride into the sunset on a black hawk" she smiled.

"I feel like this is your Hollywood pitch" he pointed out, tone cynical.

She watched him for a second, wondering if she should try another method.

"Can you tell me about previous missions?" she asked, smiling her most placating smile.

He looked at her, his face becoming serious.

"No" he replied, with finality.

"How about I just show you stuff on my computer and you react?" she tried again.

He squinted at her, the mood shifting.

"Why do you have stuff on your computer about this?" he asked and she felt him close off.

She looked at him, feeling self-conscious as his pale eyes searched her face.

"Because I worry. I worry and I google and it's a deadly combination" she sighed, honestly.

She felt him study her, his face softening infinitesimally.

"If it's on the internet, it probably isn't the truth" he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, look" she turned to her computer, pulling up the site she found months ago about prior top secret army operations.

"This one, was this you?" she asked pointing to a story about a hostage rescue in Afghanistan.

She watched as he skimmed through the article then laid back on the sofa.

"No comment, but that's not even close to how it happened" he said.

"Huh" she mused.

She turned back to her computer and scrolled down.

"How about this?" she said, pointing to the words on the screen.

He squinted.

"SEALS" he concluded, his face showing no emotions. "Probably why it got out" he added under his breath.

She turned back to gape at him.

"Special forces rivalry" she laughed, an eyebrow arching.

"No comment" he shrugged.

"This one?" she pointed again.

He sighed and that was all the affirmation she needed.

"What about this?" she asked and pointed to the report that she had been wondering about ever since she found it back when he went back to work. It was a failed hostage rescue operation. There were no details, but a black hawk crash was mentioned and the number of injured or dead soldiers was cited.

She watched as he read the lines, not just skimming through, but reading every single word.

Her heart raced as she saw his face pale slightly, his eyes swimming with emotions.

"There was six of us, not five" he said as he got up and left the room.

She turned back, rereading the headline:

 _Worst hit for Special Forces since the beginning of the war on terror._


	19. Now your dream is real

Author's note: I am on To Do lists, lol. This makes me irrationally happy! Thank you for your wonderful messages, they have the ability to make the worst days feel awesome.

Alright, this one is heavy even by my standards, so brace yourselves.

* * *

They got into a rhythm. He'd go on a mission that lasted three to eight weeks and then he'd be back for one or two. It was usually the Middle East she figured, although he rarely verified it. Sometimes it was a short domestic one while he was home or a drill lasting only a day or two and she loved those the most because it didn't only last for a short while it also signaled that they were in a training phase, rather than used in actual rotation.

She was getting more at ease with his coming and going, adjusting her own reactions and emotions to his always, masking the worry with witty banter and channeling her anxiety into other activities. Making love to him became her indicator of not just the fact that he was alive and well, but that he was still and always connected to her. She'd spend nights thinking about how she would have him once he was back, conjuring up images in her mind that left her feeling breathless and squirming. Sometimes he'd be weary when he came back, distracted even, but more often than not, he was tuned to her, reading her like she was an open book, barely getting through the door before he had her up against a wall or spread out before him on the floor.

"Did you miss me?" he'd whisper against her dripping center, the puffs of air making her gasp as she waited, with nerves in overdrive.

"Yes" she'd hiss, arching her back in anticipation.

"Show me how much" he would say, glancing up and she would feel a warm flood of anxious energy, turning her face into a blushing mess.

She knew what he wanted, her fingers circling her own clit in a vain attempt to reproduce his skilled movements and he'd growl, sending a shiver down her spine as she'd close her eyes trying to keep the embarrassment at bay.

She'd dip fingers into herself, feeling his close scrutiny, spreading her legs to give him a better view and she'd pride herself if he could only hold off for so long before reaching out to taste her or getting up with a loud curse to slam his expectant hardness deep into her.

"Fuck, this is going to be quick" he'd warn her and she'd smile, letting out a knowing chuckle before the inevitable moan as she'd feel him stretch into her again and again with curses overflowing. She usually didn't mind the haste, because weeks of wanting him would have her worked up to a point where even the feel of him hard and pulsing within her would set her off, her moans coming in a disgruntled mess of pants and jerks.

She would do her assignments while he was away, and cancel the ones she could when he was back. He never asked her to and didn't once give her a hard time if she had to go away while he was home. She wasn't sure what he did while he was left in her apartment, whenever she returned she'd find him how she'd left him: reading something with the music playing.

He was gone most of the summer, but he had almost a month off around her birthday and she felt so calm, so content, it made her wonder how she ever doubted they could do this. When he was home, they were like a real, functioning couple and she felt as close to normal as she could recall for a long time. She slept surprisingly well, her nightmares, albeit still twisted and ever changing, now few and far between.

They went out sometimes, to see art or have dinner. He wasn't crazy about the movies. Or anywhere where there were a lot of people at once. She took him to a Police reunion concert and he was scanning the crowd the whole time, keeping her in front of him.

They went to see Charlotte and he liked meeting up with Jimmy.

She found it funny how the photographer came to idolize him. He must have, at one point or another, figured out the true nature of Tristan's job, but she never once heard him ask about it. He just worshiped him silently from afar.

"Jesus, I was wondering if you two needed a room" she remarked while walking home one night from dinner with Jimmy.

"You jealous?" he asked with a smirk.

"Not until he starts taking your pictures" she retorted.

* * *

She was walking out of the bedroom, hearing the front door open and she froze as her gaze landed on him.

He was dressed in his dress blues, though he was already unbuttoning his coat.

"What's going on?" she asked, a chill passing through her.

"Nothing, how was your day?" he said, laying his coat on the back of the couch, stepping up to her and kissing the top of her head.

"The last time I saw you in dress blues, you were being investigated for encroachment" she said, with a poignant tone.

"It wasn't an investigation and it wasn't encroachment" he said, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up.

"You were called in, they asked you questions and you were tense" she listed her reasons.

"I'm not being investigated" he said, looking her in the eye.

He took his coat from the couch and walked into the bedroom to hang it in the closet.

"There is a senate hearing on use of torture in interrogations" she said, raising her voice so he'd hear it even as he was performing the task.

"Yes, I've heard" he replied, voice unchanged.

"Tristan" she said, her voice pleading.

"I'm not being investigated" he said as he reemerged from the bedroom, his words calm and articulate, as if to seem more reassuring.

"Are you testifying?" she turned to face him and watched as he seated himself by the kitchen counter.

"I'm giving an opinion. I'm an expert" he said, tone unchanged.

She took the seat across from him, her fears not reassured.

"Why doesn't that sound better?" she murmured.

His reaction was a smirk and it made her roll her eyes.

"It's a closed hearing, they needed someone to explain shit, that's the only reason I'm there" he shrugged.

"Are you an expert in torture techniques?" she asked, unnerved.

"No. Actually I'm an expert in alternative techniques of interrogation" he replied, his eyes focused on hers.

"What are alternative techniques of interrogation?" she asked, confused as she tasted the words.

"Psychological techniques" he shrugged.

"What, like threatening?" she asked.

"I find talking is the most effective way to get information" he said, his smirk back.

"That's ironic" she shot back and he raised his eyebrows.

"I feel like you are trying to express I'm not great at communicating" he said, his smirk still present.

"I know you speak a gazillion languages, but knowing them doesn't mean you can talk to people" she pointed out.

"What makes you think I don't know how to do that?" he asked, his smirk dissipating.

Rory felt uneasy, feeling the light joking giving way to more serious talk.

"You are like the most reticent person I know" she said, her voice more quiet.

"I'm sorry, we have life-and-death conversations daily. Do you not recall our first dates? he said, his tone back to being light.

"So wait, alternative techniques is code for having sex with the people you try to get info out of?" she asked and he chuckled.

"I'm not sure I'd have the stomach to do that."

She studied him, his demeanor calm as always, his body relaxed.

"What do they need your opinion on?" she asked. He thought for a second before answering.

"I'm there to describe situations where psychological techniques are more expedient" he said and she couldn't help but feel he was paraphrasing.

"Like?" she squinted.

"Sometimes you need to get information people don't know they have. Torture doesn't help with that" he said, leaning forward on the counter.

"What's information they don't know they are aware of?" she asked, her hands in her lap.

"It could be anything" he shrugged.

"Show me how that works" she said, her stomach doing a small flip and she watched as he looked up at her, his gaze growing serious.

"On you?" he asked.

"Yeah" she said, trying to make her voice self assured.

He watched her, his face serious and she felt herself go restless under his scrutiny.

"Come on, I'm game for anything" she said, trying to convince him.

He sighed, as if getting ready before taking a leap and she felt the hair on her back stand on end.

"Why didn't you go to your grandfather's funeral?" he asked, his voice low, even.

The question shocked her, hitting her hard, her heart starting to race in a wild gallop.

"I know the answer to that question" she pointed out, her voice steely.

"I don't think you do. But tell me what you think you know" he said, his reaction instant but calm.

She took a shaky breath, her hands tensing into fists.

"It would have meant seeing grandmother" she replied, her chin raised slightly.

"Why didn't you want to see them?" came his next question, his tone unnervingly even.

"I was upset with them" she replied, her answer coming quick.

"Why were you so upset with them?" he asked and she felt the bile rise in her throat. She took a breath, trying to steady her breathing.

"They wanted to bury them separately" she said, her voice trembling with anger.

"But they didn't" he replied, his tone a stark contrast to hers.

"I had to fight for that" she shot back.

"And you did and won. Why did you hold a grudge after?" he asked, his tone indifferent.

"I just... Seeing them reminded me of her and any time anything reminded me of her, I wanted to flee" she said, doing a violent shrug. His eyes trailed her form and she shifted in her seat.

"You've broken off contact with most people from your past. But not everyone, so that reasoning doesn't explain it" he said.

She opened her mouth in surprise.

"Is this about Logan?" she asked, a new kind of emotion rising inside her.

"Yeah, I guess" he replied, indifferent.

"Tristan, he's..." she rolled her eyes, but he cut her off.

"He's someone who didn't push you to face your loss, just accepted it, didn't want to talk about it or commiserate with you" he summarized.

"I guess" she shrugged.

"But I feel like that's not why you were avoiding your grandparents, I doubt they wanted to force you to face anything, they were probably crippled by their own remorse" he said and she was back to feeling anxious.

"This is ridiculous" she said, taking a deep breath.

"You said they reminded you of her" he said, leaning closer in.

"Why are we talking about this?" she said, her voice raised, her fingers tensing as she kept her palms on the counter.

"Was it her they reminded you of or was it something else?" he asked, unflinching.

"Why are we talking about this?" she repeated her questions, her voice louder, trembling.

"What is it that you were angry at your grandparents for?" he asked, his voice serious and his eyes shining with something that unnerved her.

"She was coming back from their place" she gritted out.

"Yeah but it doesn't make it their fault" he replied instantly.

"She wouldn't have gone if they didn't insist" she shot back.

"Insist on what?" he asked.

"Of celebrating her birthday" she said, her face frowning as her eyes dropped to the counter. "She wanted to spend it home with Luke, they wanted her over for dinner."

"They wanted to do something nice for her" he rephrased.

"They wanted something she didn't want" she shot back, voice close to yelling.

"Then why would she have gone?" he asked without a moment's hesitancy.

"Because I told her to" she yelled and froze instantly.

She felt her whole body tremble, her fingers digging into the counter and her breathing quick and labored.

He stared at her with a blank face.

"I was busy and I wasn't up to mediating between all of them so I told her to get it together and go. I told her to grow the hell up and just go there. She did. She took Luke for support" she whispered, her eyes welling with tears.

She stared at a spot on the counter, her chest heaving, her stomach threatening to release its contents.

She felt his hands reach for hers.

"Rory. This was not your fault" he said softly and she tore her hands away instinctively. "It wasn't" he repeated.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore" she said, blinking to reign in her reactions.

She looked up at him, feeling his concerned look.

He tried again to reach out for her and this time she willed her hands to stay put, even though her insides revolted.

"I'm sorry. This was stupid" he whispered.

"It's okay" she said, taking her hand and rising from her seat to walk into the bedroom, trying to keep herself from heaving.

"Rory" he called out her name, walking into the bedroom after her.

"I'm fine" she said, trying to make her voice light as she looked around in vain to occupy herself with something, anything.

"I'm sorry" he repeated his apology from before and she forced a smile on her face as she turned to him.

"I'm guessing your job is usually harder" she tried to make a lighthearted joke.

"It depends on your definition of hard" he said, his face showing concern as his eyes followed her aimless moves.

"I meant terrorists usually don't have secrets involving estranged grandparents" she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, it's usually more like secret plots for abductions and attacks" he said, her lips turning into a small smile.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, her face softening. He moved instantly, sensing her surrender, his arms going around her waist and pulling her closer as he looked down at her.

"Do you think I'm a mess?" she asked, her voice low.

"You're my mess" he whispered, his face serious.

She chuckled.

"Are you worried about me?" she asked, her eyes downcast as he swayed her gently.

"Always" he exhaled the word.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with triumph.

"Then you know how I feel when I see you being investigated" she said and he felt him tense.

"I'm not being..." he shook his head.

"You know what I mean" she broke him off and he rolled his eyes, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

"Maybe you should be the expert on alternative interrogation techniques" he sighed and she couldn't help but smile.

"I don't know, most of my techniques are ultra-alternative" she shrugged, her eyebrow arching slightly.

"Yeah? You wanna give me a tutorial?" he asked, his face burrowing into the crook of her neck, his lips skimming the skin there.

"I don't know if you deserve that, major" she sighed, her eyes closing as she let herself enjoy the feel of his lips against her skin.

"It's nothing Rory, I didn't have a chance to mention it. I got summoned two days ago and you just got back last night" he murmured, kissing her neck in between words.

"Which gave you a whole night to address the issue" she pointed out and he groaned.

"I was busy doing other things" he hummed and she bit her lip from keeping herself from smiling.

"You like doing those things?" she asked.

"Fuck yes" he replied, his hands lifting her off the ground, her legs going around his waist.

"You want to keep doing those things?" she asked as he carried her to the bed.

He dropped her on the bed, climbing over her quickly.

"Yes" he breathed, climbing up to meet her gaze.

"Keep me in the loop then" she said, her hands buried in his hair as she kept their eyes in level.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

He'd been gone for a while and she knew it was different this time. He called her one night and she counted the time difference not really knowing if it was morning there yet or just smack in the middle of the night.

His voice was quiet, playful, warm, but her heart raced with an indescribable worry.

"What's happening?" she asked and he heard him sigh.

"We're going on a mission" he replied as though they had been broaching the subject and not just dancing around it.

"I won't be able to call" he added.

"Is it dangerous?" she asked closing her eyes cursing to herself.

"It's not a sweet sixteen party that's for sure" he joked lightly.

"You would be surprised how dangerous those get" she went along with the tone of the conversation.

"You sound like you have some trauma" he replied.

She sighed listening to the silence of the line.

"How long is it?" she asked finally.

"I'm not sure. A couple of weeks" he said.

She wanted to say she hated not knowing, hated not being able to talk to him. She was suddenly reminded of the help homepage for army spouses. She ended up there online one night when she was searching for info after not hearing from him for a good couple of days. It was a weird mix of chauvinistic propaganda and bits that actually comforted her somehow, knowing that her feelings of helplessness were universal. The site made clear recommendations: don't blame, don't show your frustration, don't burden your loved one with your own problems. She wondered if it had been written in the fifties.

"Be careful" she said lamely.

"You too" he replied.

She knew what was coming next, something light, to ease her mood, to make her smile, to lift the tension he felt through the line.

"You need anything from the desert while I'm there?" he said and she closed her eyes smiling.

"I've been looking for a good camel" she replied without missing a beat.

He chuckled.

"Done."

* * *

She heard the phone ring and her heart raced much like it had for the past couple of weeks while she hadn't heard from him.

She saw it was a Hartford number and she scrunched her face in confusion.

"Hello?" she said into the phone.

"Hi, this is dr. Riley from the oncology ward at Hartford memorial hospital. I'm looking for a Lorelai Leigh Gilmore?" she heard the unfamiliar voice on the other end.

She gaped into the receiver.

"Hello?" the voice called out.

"This is she" she said, clearing her throat.

"I'm calling about your grandmother, miss Gilmore. I'm afraid she's entered the last stage of her illness. We are placing her into hospice care. You are her next of kin on her official records" the voice went on as she closed her eyes trying to stop the room from spinning.

"Right" she said, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard.

"She made pretty specific instructions on when to contact you and we are at that time" the voice continued, careful, slow.

She knew what that doctor must have been thinking, knew what they all must have been thinking.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, her voice small.

"I think just be here, if you want to" the voice replied and she could hear compassion there that made her thankful.

"Right, can you give me the info on where she will be?"

* * *

The hospice ward was what she'd expected it to be. There was light music, pastel colors and the faint smell of death everywhere.

She passed a total of three sobbing families in the hallway as she neared the room that she was aiming for.

When she went in, she stopped.

The room was spacious, but simple, the blinds drawn halfway, letting in a little of the afternoon sun. It smelled like disinfectant, even with the calla lilies lining the far end of the room.

She saw a number of cards on the table there and she recognized the DAR logo on one of them.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and steadying herself.

She walked to the bed, her grandmother laying in it.

She looked pale, so much smaller than she ever remembered her looking, her head covered in a scarf, a couple of white, scrawny tendrils of hair escaping from below.

She had no makeup on and she wondered if she'd ever seen her without it.

Her breathing was slow, but slightly labored and laced with a soft crackling sound that left her feeling uneasy.

She reached the bed and saw her grandmother open her eyes, the soft, hazy orbs unfocused.

"Lorelai?" she asked, voice shrill, but familiar.

"It's me grandma, Rory" she said, her voice small.

"Ah yes, of course. Look at you. You remind me so much of her. Stubborn to a fault" Emily replied and for a moment Rory faltered. Up until now she felt guilty almost, but now she was reminded, that even in her frail state, Emily was Emily.

She swallowed the bile in her throat.

"How are you?" she asked, the question sounding silly.

"I'm dying, Rory, how do you think I'm doing? They have me on a morphine drip but god knows that day nurse probably doesn't even know how to set it right. I'll die either in agony or an overdose" the elder woman replied dryly and the effort sent her into a small coughing fit.

Rory sighed, pulling a chair next to the bed.

"Try not to strain yourself" she said.

She watched as Emily got a hold of her breathing, the crackling sounds now progressing into a soft wheeze every time she released a breath.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, her words forced.

She felt her whole body shake lightly and she took a long steadying breath to calm herself.

"I know you've signed the papers" Emily said.

"I did" Rory confirmed.

"Well that's that, I guess. The last of the Gilmores" she said and Rory frowned, tears prickling at her eyes.

"We've really made a mess of things haven't we? I keep wondering how it all went wrong, what we should have done differently, how we could have stopped her" she murmured and Rory felt anger boil within her.

She steadied herself, keeping herself from reacting. This was not why she was here, she told herself. It wouldn't be long now.

"I didn't think you'd come" she suddenly said and Rory glanced up to meet her eyes. She seemed more clear now, her eyes regarding her curiously.

"You didn't come for your grandfather and god knows you loved him more."

Rory swallowed, opening her mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry for that" she said and Emily's eyes flashed to hers, stopping her. She felt it then, that apologies were pointless and that she wasn't there to give or receive them.

She let her eyes drift to the comforter on the bed, recalling her grandfather's death.

She remembered finding out about his heart attack from the message she got on her cell. She had just gotten back from a trip from somewhere and she had paced the apartment for long hours, alternating between crying and throwing up. By the time she had decided to head to the airport, she'd gotten the email, an informal announcement probably sent out to all their affiliates, that her grandfather had passed.

"He was always the conflicted one, you know? Always second guessing himself and his decisions about her, about you. But he was a good man. A decent man. I'm surprised I went on as long as I had without him" Emily said, her voice wistful as her eyes focused somewhere in the distance.

Rory listened to her, her throat constricted and a piercing ache behind her eyes.

She suddenly felt her grandmother's hand grasp hers, the cold, bony fingers sending a jolt through her.

"I know you've always been independent, you are so much more than me or even your mother, but... a man like that... it's worth it" she said. "Richard was a true companion. And so was Luke" she went on.

Her eyes flashed up to her grandmothers, but she was not looking at her, her eyes drifting off instead.

"You could tell. I wish it could have been someone more presentable, but she was always a rebel. And he worshiped her" she said, another fit of cough wrecking her body.

"I thought it would be Logan for you, but I guess that ship has sailed" she said in between coughs, taking a long while to regain control of her breathing.

Rory closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she listened to her wheeze.

"That DuGray boy. Are you still with him?" she asked when she finally calmed.

Rory opened her eyes to look at her. She had a faraway look, eyes concentrating on the calla lilies.

"Yes" she said simply.

"I like him. He worships you too" Emily said, her voice hoarse.

* * *

By the time Emily fell asleep Rory was exhausted. More emotionally than physically. But she couldn't get herself to leave.

Being with her now, seeing her so vulnerable and frail in moments, while angry and hostile in others made all of her anxiety grow, like her grandmother's presence had been the rain and her little fears and haunting memories the weed. She realized, just how connected all of her memories of Emily were to her mother, identifying the pain she could not name for years whenever she even so much as thought of sitting down with her. These women, they were connected, not only in her haunting dreams, but in her life, in her memories, in her own characteristics. The weight of that knowledge settled over her and bore her down more than the fact that she was once again gearing up to survive someone she once depended on. She laughed out loud at the thought: she was a survivor, not by sheer will or strength, but by blind chance.

She spent the next days in the hospital room, sleeping in the armchair in the corner. She used the bathroom in Emily's room. She ventured out to the cafeteria, but ate scarcely. She went as far as the gift shop, purchasing a sweatshirt and some pants to change into when the clothes she came in started to feel uncomfortable on her skin.

She bargained with the doctors, seeing her breathing calm after shots of morphine and tried to sooth her when even that didn't help and her grandmother fought for breaths through an invisible gurgling force filling her lungs. The attacks made the doctors decide to up her medication and from then on Emily spent more time sleeping than awake, her lucid moments becoming more and more rare. She could tell she was hallucinating every now and then, always calling Lorelai, having imaginary fights with her, pleading with her, laughing with her.

She died on a Thursday morning. Her last comments were about the calla lilies and how she'd always despised them, before her breathing evened out and slowed to a halt. Rory watched as a nurse came in, not rushing, just walking slowly, her fingers pushing buttons that silenced the monitor's alarms. She smoothed a hand over Emily's eyes, taking off her oxygen mask and rearranging the covers over her. She turned to Rory, giving her a small smile.

"It's over" she said. Rory nodded, not moving from the armchair.

She spent the next hour there, watching her and feeling empty. She didn't have tears to cry, but she couldn't quite find the strength to walk out of there either.

She heard a message notification on her cell and she checked it absent minded.

It was Tristan, sending her a pic of a camel with the caption ' _This one okay?'_


	20. Can you look at me

Author's note: Thank you so much for your feedback! I love reading every little comment or thought you might have, so please, keep them coming. It's great to hear that this story, despite being angsty and a roller-coaster at times, is a nice escape for some people because writing it and reading your reviews is a definite escape for me.

Ready for another dip and surge?

* * *

It was another four weeks before he came home. It was spring already by that time, with capricious storms and gusts of wind that somehow soothed her soul.

He had called to let her know he'd be back the next evening. She had insisted on picking him up and he had agreed.

She watched as he stood by the building she usually picked him up at, talking to a tall guy and as she pulled up, she recognized him as Spinner.

She watched surprised as the guys turned, Tristan smiling at her and Spinner giving her a wave. They walked to her car as she got out and Spinner greeted her with a hug, lifting her off her feet.

"Alright now, let her go" Tristan murmured and Spinner laughed as he lowered Rory to the ground.

"God, you're so freaked out by a little competition, Knight" he murmured, giving Rory a wink as Tristan snorted.

"What are you doing here?" Rory asked, her hand still around Spinner in a loose hug. She felt an overwhelming feeling of joy when she saw him, despite only having met him once before. The way Tristan talked with him, the ease he was with him made her feel gratitude and love.

"Well, looks like Knight desperately needed me on his team, so you know…" he smiled.

"You got into Delta?" Rory asked, her heart constricting with joy and worry at the same time.

"Looks like it" Spinner replied.

Rory looked at Tristan, who was looking at her intently, his eyes swirling with a sea of emotions and she felt her heartbeat pick up, realizing it had been almost two months since she'd seen him.

"All right," Spinner said, breaking the tension, "I fell like you two need to get a room."

Tristan rolled his eyes, but said nothing to deny Spinner's comment, shaking his hand and watching with a raised eyebrow as Spinner sneaked in a kiss to Rory's cheek while she looked on, still in shock.

They watched ad he got on a bike parked close by, waving as he drove by them.

She was still watching after him stunned as Tristan pulled her close, greeting her with a kiss before guiding her into the car.

"Spinner got into Delta" she repeated, still shell-shocked.

"Yep. Gene retired. They thought I should have someone I trust, I suggested him. It was his first mission" he nodded. "You look thin" he said.

"You look tan" she replied.

"I win" he chuckled.

She smiled as she started the car and drove out off the base with excitement buzzing through her. She felt the nervous fidgeting of her fingers and she felt his eyes on her, studying her.

She asked about Spinner, to distract both of them and he talked, his mood restrained but still jovial. It made her relax, knowing he came back in a good mood.

She felt him grow confused when she didn't take the highway.

"Where are you going?" he asked glancing around surprised.

"It's a surprise" she replied, biting back a smile.

She sensed him studying her face, his demeanor growing more tense, but he didn't press for details.

She asked more questions about Spinner, just to distract him, but she knew he was looking around trying to decipher where they were going.

She drove carefully, still unfamiliar on the quiet streets and she felt the nervous energy inside herself even as Tristan's confusion grew more evident with every turn.

She pulled up to the gravel driveway, shutting off the engine and got out, getting his duffel bag from the trunk.

He got out confused, his movements slow and careful, looking at the house with the porch light on behind the trees.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice guarded.

"It's a house, Tristan" she replied, matter-of-factly.

"It's a house 10 minutes from my base" he corrected her.

"It's a nice house" she offered.

He looked at her as she climbed the stairs, dropping the duffel bag on the porch as she fished into her bag trying to find her keys.

"What are you doing, Rory?" she heard his voice from right behind her and she abandoned searching for the keys, sighing as she faced him.

"Well, it looks to me like I'm gearing up for an argument" she said, her tone cynical.

"Are you renting this house?" he asked, ignoring her comment.

"No, I own it" she sighed, setting her sight on his.

His eyes flashed to hers, his expression confused. She watched as realization slowly dawned on him, his face becoming more tense as he set his jaw. They stared at each other for long seconds before he spoke again, his tone calm, quiet.

"I don't want you to do this Rory, you love living in the city" he said, studying her face.

"Have you seen the size of the study? I love living here" she gestured towards the house behind her.

"You have to drive everywhere" he reasoned.

"I've actually gotten pretty good at that. Minimal amount of panic attacks. Really" she joked.

"Rory" she heard him call her name, his voice commanding and it made her falter for a second.

"There is a bathroom overlooking a garden. A bathroom with an actual tub. And an actual skylight" she said, getting back to describing the pros of the house, ignoring his worries, his concerns all etched on his face and evident in his voice.

"Rory" he repeated.

"You can sit there and soak for hours and there's like birds and stuff over your head" she continued, as though she'd not heard him, her eyes darting everywhere but at him.

"Rory, you bought a house near the base" he pointed out, trying to redirect her focus.

"I was driving back from the base, I got lost and I saw this house" she corrected him catching his eyes for a second before she dropped her gaze.

"When was this?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"Six months ago?" she wondered out loud, her hand smoothing her forehead as she thought.

"You bought a house six months ago and you didn't tell me?" he asked, his voice slightly shocked.

"I bought it a month ago. I drove back here, it was still on sale. I thought it was a sign" she replied, exasperated.

"What happened a month ago?" he asked, his voice guilty and she felt the hair on her back stand on end. She looked up at him, his eyes worried and she felt her chest become heavy.

They haven't talked much in the past month and she chalked it up to the distance and him being busy. She didn't mind because she didn't know how she'd bring up the subject anyway. They sent each other emails, short dabbles, pictures and updates, but it wasn't a platform where she could get into a serious conversation. She certainly didn't want to inform him about all that had happened in an email.

"I inherited a shitload of money" she answered, consciously making her voice nonchalant, but she saw his eyes grew even more weary as she said the words.

He waited for her to go on, his gaze searching and she sighed, knowing she'd have to elaborate.

"My grandma died. And you remember the will. All that money. It's a shitload of money. Like this was chump change" she rambled gesturing to the house, trying to ignore his expression that was growing more weary by the second.

"Rory" he said her name with a pleading tone and her defenses almost crumbled.

"She would have hated this. Too modern. Mom would have hated this. Too classy. But I like it, you know? I love the tub. I love the skylight" she went on, ignoring the stinging in her eyes.

"Rory" he called her name again, trying to get her attention.

"Stop fucking saying that" she snapped.

She took a deep breath, calming herself. He remained motionless, watching her with concerned features.

"I had money. I liked this house. It's close to the base" she chanted, her voice being back to calm. "You're welcome to stay here if you like. If not, that's fine too" she concluded, the tears banished back to where they came from.

She reached into her bag again, miraculously finding the keys and she unlocked the large front door.

He followed her without a word, stepping into the foyer as she flooded the space with light with the flick of a switch.

She looked around, the dark hardwood floors reflceting the light as the white walls calmed her senses.

"This is the foyer, the living room and the kitchen are on the right. It's an open plan and I don't have too much furniture yet so the space is a little overwhelming" she explained walking from the foyer to the living room, the large windows hinting the shadows of the dense trees outside.

"There's a library or sitting room there, with lots of shelves. I think that was what sold me" she chuckled, pointing to the lofty room, her books already lining some of the shelves.

"And there's a study back there" she continued, not wanting to look at him as he watched her with a worried expression.

"There's a bathroom back there. The stairs lead up, there's three bedrooms and two bathrooms there. The larger one has the tub, you'll love it" she finished, starting to climb the stairs.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you" he said and she froze, her back to him.

She felt her whole body go weak, his words saying so much with so little and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain the balance she thought she had found.

"It's not your job to be there for me" she said simply, taking a shallow breath.

"I'd like it to be" he replied and she felt a flood of warmth inside her as she blinked several times to get a hold of herself.

When she felt in charge again, she turned around taking a deep breath.

"It's fine Tristan. I know you wanted it fixed, but ... there was too much to fix, you know? We haven't really been able to talk since she drew up the will. Every conversation just turned into a panic attack for me and disappointed her even more" she said, trying to believe the words herself.

"She was your family" he pointed out.

She swallowed, the tears threatening to flow again.

"I think I lost the ability to be family to anyone" she shook her head, her voice faltering.

He walked up to her, coming to stand before the stairs. He reached out, taking her hand and pulling her to him slowly.

"Why did you buy the house?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur as he burrowed his face in her hair.

She shrugged.

"I was in Hartford to organize the funeral. I couldn't actually take part, I spent the day vomiting in the hotel room. I went to the lawyer the next day. I told him to give it all to charity but…" she chuckled humorlessly, "she had put an addendum in the will saying I couldn't."

She felt him listen to her every word, his body tense, unmoving.

"So, I came back here and impulsively bought the house because it was still on sale. I thought it a sign" she finished her telling of events, realizing he was still holding on to her tightly as he listened.

"There is more left, so..." she shrugged, resorting to her cynical joking, "let me know if you would like a pool or a bowling alley or a shooting range."

"I think I'm good for now" he replied, exhaling a long breath.

"Okay" she nodded.

"Do you want to tell me…" he started to ask, but she cut him off.

"I really don't. Maybe some other time. Right now, I want you to be happy we have a new house to christen" she said, her voice pleading.

He watched her, his pale blue eyes boring into hers and she thought she might collapse, waiting for his reaction. He finally nodded and she sighed, relaxing into his hold.

"Do you want to try the tub?" she asked, tone hopeful.

He glanced up the stairs and smiled a soft smile.

"Yeah."

* * *

She walked out to the back porch carrying a beer in hand.

He was sitting in the worn out chair that she herself enjoyed often, looking out over the garden enveloped in darkness.

He looked calm, but tired and not as carefree as back at the base when she saw him with Spinner and she wondered if it was her revelation or the jet lag or something that might take him even longer to shake.

She watched him for a minute thinking about Charlotte's words, thinking about what kind of man she got back this time.

"Are you gonna just stare or do I get to drink that beer?" he asked, his face not turning towards her and she blushed realizing he caught her studying him.

She walked over to him, handing him the bottle and he took it, giving her a lazy smile.

She watched as he took a swig from the bottle then gasped as he suddenly pulled her down onto his lap. She landed with a jolt and she chuckled, settling into his hold, her head relaxing against his shoulder, her legs dangling off his lap to the side, while she felt his one arm support her back, his other one once again raising the beer bottle to his lips.

"I could get used to this" he murmured, his eyes studying the dark shadows of the magnolia trees lining the back garden.

"You like it?" she asked.

"I... I love it Rory, I think it's great" came his reply, but she didn't feel relieved. She felt him thinking, his brain trying to uncover her motivations, her secrets and she wished he'd just accept it all without worrying.

"It was strange at first" she said, making her voice light, content. "It's big. And quiet. I thought that would be overwhelming. But it helps me concentrate. It's great for writing. I'm not distracted as much" she explained.

"By your suitors" he added, taking another drink from the bottle, then setting it down by the foot of the chair, his freed up hand going to caress her leg resting in his lap.

She sighed, smiling, appreciating his attempt at matching her mood.

"I find they've lost interest" she said.

"Have they?" he asked with obvious glee. "How come?"

She shrugged theatrically.

"I must be losing my touch."

"I doubt that" he said, his voice dropping to a murmur as his hand slid up her thigh, reaching under her skirt.

She let out a sigh, closing her eyes as she concentrated on the feel of his hand on her skin, repositioning herself gently in his lap to feel more of him.

It earned her a low groan from him, his face turning slightly to inhale the smell of her hair.

"How was your bath?" she asked, her tone changing as she felt his demeanor shift.

"Reinvigorating" he replied, his voice aroused and she chuckled as she felt him shift her in his lap, letting her feel just how much.

"I can see that" she replied her voice a little breathless.

He suddenly moved under her and she yelped, her torso moving to face him and her hands going around his neck instinctively. He stood up, lifting her in the process, letting her straddle his hips, and he moved her towards the wide posts of the porch.

He set her on top, bringing her in level with him and her hands reached down to steady herself on the wood of the porch railing that she was sitting on.

She saw him smirk and take her hands, guiding them instead to reach up to the railings hanging above her head, where lilacs were just about to bloom.

She gasped as he pulled her slightly forward, her ass barely on the railing while her arms stretched to support her. She raised an eyebrow as he smirked letting her know he'd figured out the logistics of this pose long prior.

She felt an instant wave of arousal flooding her, her every cell anticipating his touch.

"Is that what you have been thinking about out here?" she asked with a teasing tone.

"One of the things, yeah" he confirmed, his hands lifting her skirt and then going to unbuckle his pants.

"There are neighbors you know" she pointed out.

"Then try not to scream when I make you come" he whispered in her ear as he pulled her into himself, his one hand pulling her panties aside while his other hand went to her backside to support her.

She closed her eyes as she felt him enter her, strong and hard and so obviously full of life. Her whole body stretched and her arms tensed as she was left to hold onto the upper railing with all her might. His face buried into the crook of her neck and she heard him moan.

"God, you feel so good like this" he whispered and it made her stomach flip. He thrust into her, both of them releasing a sigh at the sensation, and he continued with measured thrusts, his arms supporting her as he did.

He murmured into her ear with every thrust, encouraging her, praising her.

She loved his voice, his fervent words whispered in her ear, his tone low, his expressions filthy and unfiltered.

She felt her body turn to liquid even as she concentrated to hold onto the railing above her. His quickening thrusts lifted her onto a floating state of pleasure until she felt her whole body explode suddenly, a loud cry breaking from her lips.

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries as he continued to thrust into her, her body in a state of oblivion, barely hinged both literally and figuratively. Through her haze and sparks of undulating pleasure she felt his whole body tense with a last thrust, the soft jerks of his hips accompanied by a restrained moan and soft murmurs she could barely decipher. She felt nothing but warmth, the smell of him mixed with the lilacs, the soft ringing in her ears, the nagging tension in her arms and his nearness enveloping her and she let go of the railing, her arms going around his neck. She felt him keep her balance, even as his body panted with exhaustion, his forehead resting against hers.

"Rory" he said, his voice strained, still affected by the overwhelming release.

"Hm?" she hummed, eyes still closed, even as his worried tone registered, seeping back into her consciousness.

"I'm sorry you had to do this alone" he said and she froze, her eyes darting open.

"I know you're strong enough to… but I wish I could have been there to help" he said, his face so unguarded, his eyes so soft she thought she might fall apart if he weren't holding her together.

"You were. You are" she whispered, letting him kiss her again.


	21. Another one of your deals

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who dropped me some lines, the faithful reviewers and the ones who just let me know every now and then you're out there. All of your messages fill me with joy! Even if it's just a 3 ;) (Hereforthe, I was quite perplexed by that one until you explained it). I am halfway convinced lost0and0dound's assessments should be published as a separate work of art, you are seriously awesome!

This one is long, so prepare yourself.

* * *

She found him out in the back, up on a ladder she didn't know she had against the side of the house.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still groggy.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, not bothering to answer her question.

He looked completely awake, his face showing no sign of the fatigue she saw on him the day prior even though she knew he only had a couple of hours of sleep what with their evening porch activities and then his insistence to take her up on her offer to christen the house, checking two more rooms off the list. He was intense and thorough, as though he wanted to make up for god knows what he felt like he needed to make up for.

"Why are you up? Literally and figuratively?" she asked shading her eyes.

"You have to clean these gutters often Rory, they're all clogged and by the looks of it it's a wet spring" he informed her and she stood gaping at him.

She wondered how he even knew about gutters, what with his Hartford upbringing but she shook her head not bothering to go down that rabbit hole.

"They were fine when I moved in" she shrugged.

"Yeah, but you have to do this regularly. A house like this is a lot of work" he added.

She sighed.

"Maybe I should have someone come by every now and then to check these things?" she wondered out loud.

"I feel like you're just finding an excuse to recruit new suitors" he smirked.

She rolled her eyes.

"After last night, I don't think I'll be able to entertain any suitors for a while" she retorted.

He looked at her, his attention drawn from what he was doing, to her.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice concerned.

She snorted.

"I'm fine, it was a joke" she reassured him.

He eyed her wearily.

"I missed you and I... might have been a bit eager" he pointed out.

Eager might have been an understatement, she thought as she felt a shiver run down her spine, thinking of the ways he'd made love to her, his tongue persistent and thorough, his own pleasure suspended while he worked on her over and over again until he would finally come unhinged, his words loud and almost vulgar, his touch rough and demanding.

"Tristan" she cleared her throat. "Did you hear me complain?"

"No, I don't recall" he chuckled, his eyes focused on the gutter before him.

She blushed as she saw the mischievous glint in his eyes, his mind no doubt wondering about the same memories she just recalled. A sharp noise drew her attention back to the kitchen.

"Hold on" she said disappearing into the house and coming back with a steaming cup in her hand.

"Here" she handed him the cup of coffee. He climbed down from the ladder taking the cup from her hand as his eyes moved from its content to her face wearily.

"Thanks" he said tentatively, his gaze questioning.

"I know you like it and there's certainly not a Starbucks every fifty feet here" she shrugged, her fingers nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

He inhaled the smell of the cup and glanced back at her.

She smiled a forced smile and retreated to the other side of the porch, in part to be able to sit down in her favorite chair but also to escape the smell.

She loved it, but she wasn't in the mood for the barrage of feelings it brought with it.

He drank his coffee while he looked over the garden.

"The trees also need some trimming and when was the last time you cut the grass?" he asked, pointing towards the garden that did indeed start to resemble an overflowing jungle.

"I did get one of those lawn mowers. Interesting fact: not as much fun as they look" she mused.

He rolled his eyes and it made her laugh.

"I'll do it after the gutters" he declared.

"Tristan, you should rest" she sighed. "You're not my handy man."

He raised an eyebrow walking towards her.

"Yeah? It seems like I came in pretty handy last night" he mused walking over to her and bending down to kiss her.

She felt the coffee on his tongue, but somehow the soft feel of his lips against hers were more prominent, effectively wiping her mind clean of every other thought.

"I missed you" she whispered, the words spilling out of her before she could restrain herself. She felt a surge of joy inside herself, something that was undeniable but also left her feeling raw because of the nagging feeling of dread it unleashed within her instantly. She inhaled his scent, Tristan and coffee and peace, and she opened her eyes to see his eyes mirroring her own quiet joy.

He smiled at her, placing the coffee on the ground as he pulled her up and lifted her into his arms, her legs going around his hips.

"What are you doing?" she chuckled. "I thought you were cleaning the gutters."

"Oh, they can wait" he retorted, carrying her inside the house.

* * *

She woke up with a startle, feeling his hand on her side.

Her eyes focused on his form, dressed up and sitting on her bed.

The information registered slowly in her brain and dread hit her at the same time as consciousness did.

"No. You're leaving already?" she asked, her voice sounding groggy and out of breath.

"I'm sorry, there was a call" he said, leaning in to kiss her gently.

"You've only been home a couple of days" she wondered out loud.

"I know" he said, no argument in his voice.

She sighed, nodding.

"Let me drive you" she said sitting up in bed suddenly.

"Rory, go back to sleep, I'll call you later..." he reasoned.

"I'll drive you" she repeated, throwing the covers off and getting up with determination.

She heard him sigh but he didn't protest.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she arranged her thoughts. She grabbed a sweatshirt from the closet, putting it on as she walked into the bathroom. She took a gulp of mouthwash rinsing out her mouth and she put her hair up in a ponytail.

She walked out of the bathroom finding him waiting for her.

"All done" she said and he smiled.

"I love the outfit" he said, gesturing to her attire and she looked down to see her matching grey sweatpants and Yale sweatshirt.

"Shut up" she rolled her eyes, heading towards the stairs.

He had a bag by the stairs waiting and he was calling someone on his cell as he descended behind her.

"No, it's fine, I'll get there on my own" is all he said before hanging up.

"We're going to the base?" she asked looking around disoriented, trying to find the car keys.

He nodded and lifted the keys from the top of the table in the foyer. She grabbed them and went outside, the still chilly night jolting her awake. She locked the door behind him and took a deep breath as they walked down the steps to the car.

"Here, let me drive" he said, reaching out for the keys.

"I'm fine to drive" she protested.

"You have drool on your face, Rory, let me drive, it'll give you a chance to wake up" he said, leaving her no choice.

She sighed, accepting his argument and got into the passenger seat watching him with concerned eyes.

His face showed no emotions, no turmoil, while she was feeling the icy grip around her heart. She wondered if he felt annoyance or anger at all, or if being called back was such a high and unyielding power in his life that nothing else mattered.

She watched as he checked his mirrors and started the car pulling out of her driveway.

"Isn't there like a rule that you have to get a certain amount of rest between missions?" she rumbled.

He ignored her, slowing down to turn at the end of the street even though there was no traffic at this hour.

"This can't be good for morale" she continued.

"Trust me Rory, I'd rather stay in bed with you too, but it's the job" he said, his words calm.

She looked at him, surprised at his admission.

"We still have some rooms to christen" she murmured, her tone becoming more cooperative, sinking into her seat as she studied his profile.

She smiled as she saw him chuckle, his eyes flashing with an electric look.

"I know" he said, his voice deep, "when I come back" he said, the promise sending a shiver down her spine.

"When are you coming back?" she asked, her tone dropping to a playful tease.

He drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head slightly, giving her a reprimanding look.

"Soon, I hope."

* * *

She watched as he walked to the building with his bag flung over his shoulder, her mouth still tingling from the goodbye kiss he gave her against the side of the car. She watched him until he disappeared inside the building even though she knew he wouldn't look back. He never did. She took a deep breath, climbing into the driver's seat, suddenly wide awake, despite the late hour.

She was blinded momentarily by the headlights of the car pulling up next to her. She turned, seeing the family she'd seen last time, the blonde woman and the tall, muscular guy, and they whispered their goodbye quickly before he raced into the building after Tristan.

She suddenly met the blonde woman's eyes and she realized she'd been staring at them, feeling uncomfortable.

The woman smiled a warm smile and rolled her window down. She matched her actions.

"Hey" the blonde whispered and Rory realized the children must be in the back, sleeping. "I'm Stella."

"Rory" she replied smiling.

"You wanna get some coffee?" Stella asked. "If I wake these two up again to get them back into bed, they're never gonna fall asleep."

Rory nodded, returning Stella's warm smile and started the car ready to follow her.

* * *

They parked the cars next to each other in a McDonald's parking lot and Stella got into hers, glancing back to look at the children every now and then.

She was a couple of years younger than Rory, she figured, in her late twenties. She was disarmingly sweet and energetic, quick witted and a fast talker, her smile infectious. Rory liked her immediately.

"Sorry for dragging you out, you sure you don't need to get back? I just saw you and thought I'd say hi. I always realize people here are more reserved you know, but I've got the South in me" she chuckled. "We moved from North Carolina when Jake joined Delta, but we are from Texas originally" she whispered, clutching the paper cup of coffee in her hand.

Rory blew on her tea, the liquid too scorching hot even to attempt to taste it.

"You're the major's wife, right?" she heard Stella ask.

"We're not married" she smiled, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well he's young. So young right?" she replied without missing a beat. "But Jake is so impressed by him. I'm telling you, I'd be jealous if I didn't know any better" she chuckled, her hand going to Rory's.

She smiled an awkward smile, feeling the warmth of Stella's hand. She had the urge to look down and see why the warmth felt so strange, but she thought it might look weird, so she just smiled, mesmerized by the way the blonde woman seemed to talk with so much ease.

"He's always talking about him. Knight this and Knight that. He's infatuated. Says he's calm and smart, molded them right into a team. I was worried about that. He didn't like the last crew with the Rangers. He never said, but it just felt like he didn't, you know? And I mean, with their line of work if you don't have blind trust in each other then it's all just gonna go to hell, am I right?" she asked and Rory nodded, the words overwhelming her even as she felt her body gently relax.

"You two been together long? We've been together ten years. Jesus I can't believe it's been ten years. Those two are Sarah and Peter, they're 6 and 4. Jake wants another one, but I've been holding out. I don't know, I mean it's Delta. I know, I know. We're not supposed to be negative, but I worry, okay? I know he's the best, he's always been the best. But still..." she trailed off.

Rory studied her face, dumbfounded by the honesty, the emotions. She watched as Stella's deep brown eyes drifted off into the distance.

"God, I'm hogging the conversation. So how long?" she asked, turning back to Rory.

"Just about two years" she said, surprised as she counted the time. "But I've known him back in high school."

"Ooooh, love found again! How romantic" Stella squealed and Rory chuckled, the blonde's demeanor infectious.

"Yeah, it wasn't exactly like that. We had... a weird dynamic in high school" she murmured, glancing down at her cup of tea.

"How so?" Stella asked.

"I guess he liked me. But he expressed it in a weird way. He was obnoxious at best" she shrugged, biting back a smile as she thought of Tristan back then. Compared to what she knew now, he had been a child, a lost boy showing little of the incredible strength and restrain he would grow to possess.

"Oooh, the brooding bad boy. I love it" Stella arched an eyebrow.

Rory chuckled.

"What about you? You said you've been together ten years?" she asked, her question tentative.

"Yep. High school sweethearts. He was a jock, I was a cheerleader. Pretty cliché, I know. He joined the army and I went to college at UT. Everyone said it wouldn't work, but here we are" she laughed and Rory felt a grin spread on her face as Stella's warm personality surrounded her.

"I got pregnant in my senior year with Sarah. You know how those boys get when they come back after a deployment" she winked at her. "It just happened, so we got married, never looked back. He set his eyes on Delta from the getgo, he said _'you either do it right or you don't do it at all_ '. He got recruited last year, he was ecstatic" she trailed off, her voice becoming solemn. Rory felt the same fear, the same worry she felt, echo on Stella's face.

"Were you not happy about it?" Rory asked, her tone soft. "God knows, I don't know why they want to do it."

Stella looked at her, brown eyes meeting blue with such unvoiced understanding, she felt the urge to pull back, the overwhelming connection waking feelings inside herself she was not prepared for. Stella watched her, a knowing smile spreading on her lips.

"I didn't know how to feel about it, but I tell you what I don't miss: moving around. I had lived in 12 different places in the last ten years. And I knew Delta would mean stability. At least for me and the kids" she said, glancing back towards her car.

"And besides" she said, turning to Rory with a smile and a wink. "Would you be as smitten with him if he wasn't so set on it?" she asked.

Rory smiled a bittersweet smile.

"I guess not."

She regarded Stella and thought of Charlotte, these women serving in a different way than their husbands, but serving nevertheless. She wondered how people made that commitment not just to a person, but to a lifestyle, to a country, to a way of life. They committed themselves to rules and regulations, to unplanned moves and unpredictable living situations, to schedules, protocols and silent agreements and somehow managed to do it with a blind trust, a convicted faith. She didn't understand that strength but felt in awe of it, with Charlotte and now with Stella too. She wished she could understand that dedication. She wished she could feel the strength of that commitment.

She thought of Tristan and wondered if that commitment, that strength was what saved his life, saved his life from facing being alone in the world and then by giving it purpose and finally by giving him a way back from places most people would have perished.

* * *

He promised 'soon', but it wasn't.

In fact, it was 3 weeks before she even heard from him again.

She had been on edge, more frustrated as the days went by without any contact from him. She watched the unruly garden from the back of her porch, the summer showers leaving everything astonishingly green and bursting with life, while everything was still inside of her, as though all her cells had shut down, holding with baited breath until she could resume living.

As the days went by, she grew restless, her sleep disturbed by the vivid dreams that were a permutation of the worst of her experiences and fears, and her days spent in an exhausted haze.

She went on an assignment to Alaska just to take her mind off the fact that she knew nothing of him. She hoped that the chill, the stark sky, the wild and relentless nature would be a cure for the anxiety growing inside of her, but the truth was, there was no rest for her mind or soul.

She found herself checking her phone every half an hour, her dread growing by the minute, imagining how or if she'd even find out if anything happened to him.

She realized she had no way to know if something had happened to him, remembering her trip to the Heidelberg Hospital, the words that she had been told about families being contacted. She realized she had no grounds to expect she would be contacted. The knowledge filled her with a dread that was new and heavy, weighing down on her chest like a ton of bricks. It got to the point where she could hardly concentrate on anything and she wrapped her trip up, cutting it short by two days.

She had been a nervous wreck and she was alternating between scared senseless and incredibly angry. Angry at herself, at him, at his dedication, at their country, at the whole damn world.

She had the TV on, constantly checking for news that would give her a hint as to where he was.

When she finally heard it, she knew it in an instance.

It was a report on covert CIA operations in Afghanistan, backed by military forces, the missions apparently a coordinated effort to double down on ISIS strongholds in the region. The report mentioned escalating fights as a result of on-ground military operations. Some sources confirmed that a team had to be evacuated after an unsuccessful mission that resulted in at least two deaths.

She rushed to the TV as the news moved on to the next topic and she changed the channels, desperately trying to find more information. She checked her laptop, the sites she had looked at so many times when he had first left to go back to work not giving her any more substantial information.

She gasped as she heard her phone ring and she sat, unable to move as she watched the cell on the kitchen table light up and buzz with the ringtone.

She moved, her limbs shaking lightly as she glanced at the screen, the unknown number phrase written there.

She answered the call, her voice a hollow echo.

"Hello?"

"It's me" she heard him, the line full of static.

She thought she might collapse, the relief so powerful, washing over her and draining her. She willed herself to inhale, to try to breathe.

"Oh thank god" she sighed, closing her eyes as she breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm fine" he said, his voice tense.

"I thought it was you..." she heard herself say, the panicked words slipping out before she could censor herself.

"It wasn't us Rory, I'm fine" he cut her off, his tone impatient.

"What happened?" she asked, knowing ahead that he would deflect.

"I don't know... I ... I can't say anything, I just wanted to let you know I'm fine" he said and she swallowed hard, trying to steady her heartbeat. She concentrated on his voice, the fact that he was alive and well, repeating it to herself as if it were a mantra.

She listened to the static of the phone, biting her tongue to keep herself from saying the things that were beating at her chest. She knew they all would have sounded hysterical and pointless. He waited on the other end of the line and she knew he heard her questions, her pleas, without her letting them be voiced.

"Rory, I'm fine" he said again, his words warmer this time.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Everything's okay. I'll be home soon, okay?" he said calmly.

She bit her lip but couldn't stop the sob that broke from her lips in a hiccup.

"Rory" he pleaded with her and it made her shake her head, willing her emotions back in order.

"Okay. I'm sorry. It's okay. Thank you for calling me" she said, her tone calming as she said the words mechanically.

"Rory" he repeated himself.

"I know. I'm sorry. You don't need this. I'm sorry" she reasoned.

"It's... " he started, sighing as he couldn't find the right words, "I don't want you to worry, okay? I got this. Just, trust me. I don't know when I can call again."

His words made no sense to her but she nodded, her tears threatening to start again.

"Okay" she whispered.

"Rory?" he called her name again, his voice eternally soft, as though he were whispering it to her from bed, right next to her.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

"I miss you. At least three more rooms to go. It's a promise" he said and she chuckled, the tension breaking from her chest as she heard the line go dead.

* * *

She was coming home from D.C., squinting as she saw the light shine from the house through the trees. At first it crossed her mind that she'd left one of the lights on when she left that morning, but then a sudden and insistent kind of hope bloomed in her chest, making her heart race and her hands shake lightly.

She parked the car, hearing the soft music drifting through the open window and felt herself grin, her feet racing up the stairs and through the door.

He was in the kitchen and he barely had time to turn before she launched herself into his arms, kissing him with a fervor that caught him off guard.

"Don't do that again" she said, kissing him over and over.

"Do what?" he chuckled.

"Leave before fucking me in every single one of these rooms" she whispered.

"Yes ma'am" he said, placing her onto the kitchen isle. "Let's check the kitchen off the list."

* * *

She hadn't let him out of her sight since he'd been back. She knew she was being unreasonable, but he didn't seem to mind, content to have her close, never a couple of steps away from him.

His phone was buzzing incessantly and she looked at it with a worried frown.

He caught her troubled expression and gave her a soft kiss as he cleared the remnants of dinner from the table.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it" he said.

"You sure?" she asked. "They called you after two days the last time you were home."

"It's just the guys, they are holding a birthday party" he shrugged.

Rory looked at him perplexed.

"You mean, your crew?" she asked.

For some reason it felt strange for her to think about the fact he had this whole other life, where people knew him, perhaps in a way she would never.

"Yeah" he said, turning to do the dishes.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, her voice timid.

"Honestly, I'd rather stay here with you" he shrugged.

"I could go with" she said, clearing her throat.

He turned to look at her, his expression showing unconcealed surprise.

"You don't know anyone from there. Except for Spinner. And Stella" he said slowly, his eyes intent on hers.

It was her turn to gape. She had not told him about having talked with Stella, or even the fact that they exchanged numbers and texted sometimes. She liked having someone to reach out to, especially when she hadn't heard from him for those couple of weeks. She realized instantly that Stella was a pro at shooting down her anxiety without her even having to pose questions.

"I could meet them" she said and watched his reaction. There was a flash of something there, surprise and contentment, hope almost.

"You sure?" he asked, his words careful.

"Yeah, I mean, if that's okay. I don't know what the protocol is" she said, shrugging.

"The protocol?" he asked, eyebrows raising.

"Yeah, I mean am I allowed to meet these people?" she said, knowing she sounded ridiculous.

"Yeah" he said, biting back a smile that made her self-conscious.

"Is it… am I allowed to know what you do?" she asked.

"Mary" he said, wiping his hand and pulling her closer. "It's not very complicated. Significant others know the job. They usually don't talk about it out in public, because we don't. And that makes it easy, because randoms don't pick up on stuff."

"Randoms?" she asked, eyebrow arching. "You mean girls that have not been made aware of what you do?"

"Yeah" he said, smirking. "Spinner and Vince are single. They tend to have a rotating door of girls, but I wouldn't worry about them because they don't usually pick up on stuff. Jake is married to Stella. Billy just had a kid with his wife, Donna and Dylan is about to get married to his fiancé, Gina."

Rory listened to him talk about these people, the names rolling so easily off his tongue and she felt a strange sense of insecurity.

She wondered if he had kept her from them knowingly or just never assumed she'd want to be a part of it.

She thought of Stella, the warm, unassuming way she welcomed her.

"I'll get dressed" she said and he smiled, a warm, relieved smile. She returned it before turning to walk upstairs.

* * *

They entered the bar with Tristan holding her hand and her sheepishly standing behind him.

There was a loud cheer when Tristan nodded towards a group of people and Rory looked at him with surprise on her face.

"Rory!" Stella rushed up to her, giving her a hug while nodding at Tristan. "I was wondering when he was gonna stop hiding you from us" she winked at him and he smirked in response.

She was dragged by Stella towards a booth.

"This is Gina" she said, pointing to a girl that she recognized from seeing at the base the first time she dropped Tristan off.

"And this is Donna" she turned to another girl. "I swear we didn't change our names to sound like a Go-Go's cover band" she chuckled.

"Stella, Donna, Gina" she chuckled. "Yeah, now I'm worried I'm not gonna fit in" Rory mused and they all laughed.

"This is Donna's husband Billy, and this is Gina's soon to be husband, Dylan" Stella continued the introductions.

The men all greeted Rory with a nod and a quiet "ma'am" that made her chuckle.

"Those two making out in the corner are Vince and… I wanna say Veronica? Vanessa?" Stella said with amusement. "Don't really know, because that's all they have been doing since we got here."

"And you've apparently known Spinner longer than we have" she said as she noted Spinner approaching with a round of beers.

He put the bottles on the table and greeted Tristan with a handshake, then moved over to envelop Rory in a hug.

"Hey Rory" he said.

"Hey Spinner" she said with a wide smile.

"How are you?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"I've been good. You?" she replied, his smile infectious.

"Great. I do need to borrow your guy for a sec though" he said, winking at Tristan.

Tristan narrowed his eyes.

"For what?" he asked, his voice guarded.

"Now, I know you got Rory here, but I'm sure she won't mind. Come on, for old time's sake, help a brother out" Spinner said to him, tapping his back.

"Spinner. No" he said, dismissing him.

"Come on man, I've been getting shot down left and right, you're my wingman" Spinner pleaded as Stella and Rory watched on amused.

"Take Vince" Tristan bit out.

"He's predisposed at the moment" Spinner pointed to the bar and Rory focused on who she assumed was Vince. Vince was a svelte, muscular guy, his almond shaped eyes and strikingly handsome features apparent, even from afar. He was still making out with a girl who was dressed in a vintage looking dress.

"You're going to get me in trouble here" Tristan was trying to convince Spinner through gritted teeth.

"Two minutes tops. I just need an in" Spinner said, turning to Rory for approval.

She chuckled, her hands spreading out in consent and Tristan rolled his eyes at her.

"Jesus. Which one?" he said, annoyed.

Spinner all but jumped from joy, pointing to three girls standing by the bar.

"The redhead" he said.

"Of course" Tristan sighed. "I'm sorry" he whispered to Rory.

She watched with amusement as they walked over to the bar, Tristan ordering from the bartender.

Spinner wasn't kidding before. The three girls all turned to watch Tristan, who just gave them a short nod, but Spinner took the opportunity to make his introduction.

Rory watched the scene unfold with an amused expression, noticing the girls all rearranging their hair and straightening their backs. They fluttered around Tristan, but he kept glancing over to Rory.

"So, what do you do, Rory?" Gina asked, drawing Rory's attention back to their table as she slid her a cocktail that she had just acquired from the bar.

"She's a journalist!" Stella interjected with an excited voice. "You should read some of the stuff she writes. Most of it is over my head, but boy, you have a talent" she said, smiling at Rory.

"Thanks" Rory smiled. "What do you girls do?"

"I'm a school teacher. Elementary. And Donna here is in retail" the small brunette, Gina, said.

"That's a fancy way of saying I work at Macy's" Donna shrugged.

"For now" Stella said, supportive.

"For ever. I have a degree in business. But it's hard with the type of experience I've had" Donna said wistfully.

"What do you mean?" Rory asked, curious.

"You know. Always moving around. It's impossible to build a resume. And it's easiest to just walk into a department store and apply for a job there" she shrugged.

"I used to think I'd finish nursing school. I restarted four times, but I never managed to get my registration. I just gave up after a while. I work part time at a retirement home now" Stella shrugged.

"Why don't you enroll now?" Donna asked.

"I don't know. Every time I consider it, one of the kids get sick or something and I feel like: nah, I'll never have time to study" Stella shrugged.

Rory listened to the women talk, but felt a pair of eyes on her. She looked towards the bar and met Tristan's gaze. He was standing there with a longing expression while Spinner was really working the crowd of three. She smiled and Tristan took a deep breath, whispering something to Spinner.

He walked towards her and the three girls looked more than disappointed to be left behind as he approached the table and slid into the booth next to Rory.

"How is he doing, Knight?" Gina asked him.

"It's looking pretty bleak, Gina" he replied and the girls all laughed.

* * *

He guided her towards the car in the parking lot, his steps sure, while she stumbled.

"That was fun" she said, her voice faltering as she hiccuped.

"Was it?" he asked amused as he opened the door and helped her inside.

She had the distinct feeling he was mocking her, but she couldn't be sure, what with the four cocktails the girls had her consume.

"Yeah, they're nice. I love Stella" she said with a stupid grin as Tristan buckled her seat belt.

"She loves you" he replied quietly. "Jake's been harassing me about her wanting you over for dinner" he said making his way over to the driver's seat.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked and watched as he sighed, buckling himself before he laid back in his seat, his hands resting on the wheel.

"I didn't know if you were interested. I didn't know if you wanted to get involved in any of this" he said as he started the car.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her head resting on the seat as she turned to watch him in the driver's seat.

"Dating someone doing this is one thing. But getting involved with all this… It's a tight knit group, you know? People tend to look out for each other. And they tend to rely on one another. I didn't know if you'd like that" he said.

She wondered what he meant, why he was worried to draw her into that, but if she was being honest, it was obvious. He thought she was too broken for all that.

She felt herself ask the question before she could stop herself.

"Why did you think I wouldn't want to get involved?"

She saw his hand flex on the wheel, his body rigid as he concentrated on the dark road ahead, not glancing at her, but she imagined that took active control on his part.

He cleared his throat. When he spoke, his words were quiet, solemn and she had to concentrate through her slowly fading buzz.

"I saw that town, Rory. Even from the couple of times I've been there I know what they must have been like. They were quirky and warm and I'm sure they wanted to rally around you when all that stuff happened…"

She listened to him with quiet shock. She was always bewildered by the fact he had been present for her previous life, because it was so hard for her to reconcile the man she grew to know with the lost, obnoxious boy of her memories. But his words were proof that he was more observant than she could imagine, that he had watched her and had seen her, from the very beginning, placing together her messed up character like a horrendous jigsaw puzzle. She shivered and pulled her arms around herself.

"They're not present in your life, so I can only imagine that was your decision" he finished, his words soft.

She looked at him baffled, blinking back the sudden onslaught of tears.

"Did you think your crew would be a trigger?" she asked him, voice frail.

He chuckled, a mirthless bubble of laughter breaking from his chest and she furrowed her brows studying his reaction.

"They're a trigger for me too" he said and she felt a pang in her chest.

She thought of Charlotte, thought of how difficult it was for him to face her, how long it took him. Suddenly she understood that, because it was so similar to how she wanted to stay away from people from her old life. And she felt stupid for being too wrapped up in her own tragedies to notice he was battling his, every single day, with so much more poise and grace than she could ever hope to have.

She unbuckled herself, scooted closer, her movements hasty and obviously still affected by the alcohol. She slid up to his side, hauling herself over the center control and he looked at her in shock only for a second, before accommodating her as she buried her face into the nook of his neck, his right arm going around her as his left remained on the wheel.

She inhaled his scent, all strength and grace and love.

"You are an incredible person" she whispered and she felt him scoff as her hand rested against his chest.

"You are" she repeated and this time there was no protest from him, just the slight relaxing of his body against hers as she felt him kiss the top of her head.

She felt her buzz dissipate and she closed her eyes, trying to keep herself from sinking into the barrage of feelings evoked by their conversation. She wanted to recall the night, the familiarity, the warmth, the joy instead.

"Do you think Spinner's getting laid tonight?" she asked, voice cracking.

He let out a loud laugh, the rest of the tension leaving his body.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Those girls were a tough crowd."

"They seemed to like you" she said.

"Well, I like you, so tough for them…" he smirked.

"I'm sure they were disappointed" she said, her voice dropping.

"They'll get over it" he shrugged.

"I'd be horribly disappointed" she went on, her voice becoming deeper.

She felt him inhale deeply, as if the tone had fine-tuned him to her instantly.

"I don't think I would have left _you_ at that bar" he said, his voice a sensuous murmur.

"What would you have done?" she asked suggestively and her tone made him inhale another deep breath as he shifted under her. Her fingers were drawing patterns on his chest and she saw his legs relax, spread wider for more comfort.

"Probably bang you in the bathroom" he said, his voice low.

"It's been known to happen" she chuckled, her hand trailing down lower.

"Yeah" he groaned, shifting in his seat again as her hand ventured to his lap. Her fingers fluttered over his hardness as she nuzzled his neck, her tongue darting out to feel the warm skin.

"Shit" he inhaled sharply, the car swerving slightly.

He stepped on the accelerator, turning onto their street with screeching tires as she chuckled. He turned onto their driveway, the gravel settling in a little cloud around them as he stopped the car. He got out quickly, walking around swiftly as Rory stumbled to get out of the car with a giggle.

"Alright, let's make this easier" he said, lifting her over his shoulder as she squealed.

He walked up the stairs and opened the door, kicking the door closed behind them with his foot.

He took her to the couch, dropping her onto it while he was taking off the shirt he wore, joining her on top, his eager mouth trailing kisses down her neck.

She watched him, her mind a foggy haze, but even so, his naked form, his powerful muscles, his warm skin made her mind sharp.

"Do they think I'm some random?" she asked, the question sudden, even to herself. He froze, his eyes finding hers and squinting as he let out a small scoff.

"What are you talking about?" he murmured, sitting back on his knees to look at her as she laid on the couch.

"We are not married" she pointed out.

He stared at her, her sentence hanging in the air.

"You sure as fuck aren't a random, though" he said slowly, shaking his head.

She frowned, somehow not pleased with his answer.

"Hey" he said, drawing her attention back to him. Her eyes met his and she swallowed hard. "You're as real as it gets for me, Rory. I mean it. It's you or no one" he said.

She nodded as her chest swelled at the sentiment. She moved forward, pushing him back against the couch and mounting him as she undid his pants.

"Do they know that?" she asked as she sat on him, her fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the rough surface of his scar there.

He sighed, taking a hold of her wrists, making her meet his gaze.

"They know" he said, his eyes shining brightly in the dark room.

The certainty in his voice made her shiver but she couldn't help but see the worry in his face.

"Rory" he called out her name and the tone made her close her eyes.

"Let's not talk anymore" she said, trying to smile.

"Look at me" he said and she inhaled sharply, the way he said that, making her break out in goosebumps.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked, cupping her face.

She shook her head, her hand trailing up to hold his wrists.

"It's nothing, I'm drunk" she said with a smile.

The uneasy expression didn't leave his face though and she moved in, kissing him hungrily to distract him. She ground into his erection and he sucked in a breath. Her hand reached down to grasp him, the other one pulling her panties aside.

"Shit" he said, his eyes closing as she slid onto him and she felt him surrender, all worries and questions abandoned as he moaned out her name, hands digging hungrily into her hips.

"I should get you drunk more often" he said in between sloppy, messy kisses and she chuckled as she started moving over him, setting a sensuous pace. She felt him come undone within minutes, his hands desperately trying to slow her movements as he cursed under his breath.

"Say it again" she whispered, her eyes focusing on his in the darkness of the room and he looked at her confused, until understanding slowly dawned on him.

"It's you or no one" he repeated, his voice hoarse and she gasped, closing her eyes as she felt the unstoppable wave of pleasure wash over her, aided by his tumultuous release.


	22. Chains of gold

Author's note: I'm nervous about this one. Rewriting it has become an obsession, but it's going on here now, so I gotta let it go. Thank you, as always, for reading.

* * *

She sensed his weariness, still lingering from their eventful night. She felt a strange tension herself and she couldn't quite blame it on being hung over, their conversation from the night prior replaying on a loop in her mind. He had slept in, something that was rare for him and had been inside the upstairs bathroom for well over an hour, taking a bath, his mood quiet, contemplative.

She knocked on the bathroom door and entered, seeing him rouse, lifting his head from the back of the tub where he was resting it.

"Still alive?" she asked quietly.

"Sorry, dozed off. It must still be jet lag" he offered as an explanation.

Her eyes skimmed his body soaking in the tub, the white of the studs a stark contrast to his sun-tanned skin.

"Isn't the water getting cold?" she scooted down by the tub, rearranging her robe around herself, her hand sliding into the water to check.

"It's fine" he said, his hand finding hers under the water.

She smiled and felt her face warm, suddenly reassured and confused at the same time.

"It's nice, I haven't had a decent bath in weeks" he murmured.

She looked at him, but didn't dare ask a question. She wondered if he would go on.

"It's mostly quick showers" he added.

"So, you like the tub?" she asked, her eyebrow raised.

"I like your whole house. It suits you" he whispered.

She smiled a bittersweet smile, hearing him describe the house as hers. She wondered if he felt strange about it, felt like he didn't belong. She hadn't thought of that possibility. She hadn't really thought of anything, buying the house on a whim and moving in without thinking twice about it.

"I thought it would freak me out, but I like it. I like the garden out back, even though I'm not sure which of these plants are supposed to be here and which are the weeds taking over. And I like the kitchen. I mean, it's not that I do much cooking, but I feel halfway motivated" she chuckled.

He watched her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His one hand covered his mouth as if he were concentrating, while the other reached out to play with a strand of her hair.

"Rory" he said, stopping her rant, "can I ask you something?"

"Yeah" she said, her voice unsure, but her chest tightening. Her mind returned to her previous line of thoughts, his weariness.

"This house... does it mean... I feel like it's a big step for you. A great step. A step you should be taking. But I don't want to be the one holding you back" he said, his words slow and careful.

"What do you mean?" she asked, shaking her head, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

He sighed, his face pained.

"You were worried about being a random…" he pointed out.

"I was not worried… I was drunk" she sighed, brushing him off.

"And I said you were it for me, but… I never asked you, what you wanted" he said, his eyes tentative as he searched hers.

She furrowed her brows, the uneasy feeling growing by the second.

"You got so upset over the phone when you thought something happened…" he went on and she knew he was alluding to her freak out when she heard about the deaths.

"It was stupid, I'm sorry, I know" she cut him off.

"It wasn't stupid" he sighed. "Rory," he called her name softly, "maybe we should talk about our arrangement and whether you want to change it" he said, eyeing her cautiously.

"Arrangement?" she repeated his expression, but couldn't help her disdain showing, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.

He winced, realizing how that particular word sounded.

He took a deep breath, trying again.

"I just feel like maybe you want something else" he said, as if the words were difficult to get out.

She looked at him as though he had slapped her.

"Like... someone else?" she asked, her emotions welling inside her.

"Yeah, I guess" he swallowed.

He looked at her with baited breath, his eyes searching hers.

"Tristan, I just met your whole crew. You gave me a whole speech about how important that was" she said, her mind reeling.

"Yeah, I know and I feel like I'm getting everything I could ask for and you… I feel like you are getting the shorter end of the stick here" he said, his hand going to brush hair back from her face. She felt his fingers stay there, tangled in her hair, his face in a pleading look, but she felt her anger rise as she replayed his words, nostrils flaring.

"And that makes you think I should be with someone else?" she asked, her anger showing.

"No. God, Rory. I just feel like you deserve more… and you buying this house makes me think maybe you do want more" he sighed, exasperated.

"And that more can't be from you?" she shook her head, her brows furrowed.

"Rory. I don't think that's fair to you. I still can't promise anything. I can't promise I'll be around when you need me. I can't promise I will call when you need me to. I can't promise when I'll come back. I can't even promise I will or if you'll even find out if I..." he explained as she closed her eyes, breaking him off.

"I get it..." she said, trying to push down the anger and remain rational.

She looked at him, face stern.

"Would I find out if I were official?" she asked, her voice a little loud in the quiet of the bathroom.

He stared at her, his fingers stilling in her hair.

"Official?" he asked, with a furrowed brow.

"If I were your wife" she spelled it out for him, her voice determined.

He stared at her, face frozen in a quiet shock, his eyes a troubled blue.

"Rory" he whispered, his voice almost breaking.

"What?" she asked, annoyed.

"That's not what I was... " he shook his head.

"Look, you want to know if this is it for me too? It is. I'm in this. I understand what it entails and I've made a decision. I understand the circumstances, I accept the nuisances. But I need to have some reassurance. I need to be able to know what's happening" she gritted out, her emotions taking a hold of her.

"Rory, I don't want this for you" he pleaded, shaking his head lightly.

"What do you want for me?" she snapped, her voice raising.

"I want you to be happy" he replied, brows furrowed.

"Happy?" she scoffed. "Are you happy?" she countered, arching an eyebrow.

"Rory, three years ago I lost everything and now it's like I've gotten back more than I could have ever hoped to" he said, his voice a little lost, pleading.

"Yet you come back to me" she pointed out.

He sighed, his face relaxing.

"I do. And I will as long as it's enough for you. But I'm not dumb enough to think this is all you deserve. That this is all you'll need" he murmured, his gaze dropping as he leaned back in the tub.

She stared at him, her breathing fast, his words making her insides shake.

"Tristan, is it possible that we, two people that have decided we are not going to go the conventional route and don't want the conventional things and are happy in a different way than most people are happy... that we can do that together?" she asked, her voice softer.

"I'm not sure I can give you everything you deserve, Rory" he shook his head, his tone remorseful.

"What is everything I deserve?"

"Everything" he spread his hands.

"Tristan, you know me. I don't need the fairy tale. I am not dreaming about kids and a dog and beach vacations. The thought of that sends me into a panic attack. That's not the type of commitment I am looking for and neither are you. What I need is you. I need you to come home when you can and be with me when you can. It's more than I allowed myself. It's more than I thought I could handle. But you were the one to get me here. And I only want it with you. And I don't need more. But I need to be able to find out if you're hurt. I need to know if you're..." she said, her voice going from a calm manner to almost hysterical as she trailed off.

"Hey, okay, okay, come here" he leaned forward, opening his arms for her.

She got to her feet, climbing into the tub as the sobs shook her and he folded her into his arms, pulling her close as the water soaked her clothes.

"Shhh," he hushed her, "it's okay."

He rocked her gently until her sobs subsided.

She felt his heart race as he held her close, such a strange contrast to his always slow and steady rhythm.

"Do you really want this?" he whispered, his fingers caressing her hair as he kissed the top of her head.

"Yes, I do. Do you want this? Because if you don't…" she countered, looking up at him, her eyes hazy.

"I want you" he whispered, pulling her close as he kissed her with all his might.

* * *

He'd been gone most of the day and the light was fading when she heard the front door open. She was in the kitchen, her laptop in front of her.

"You have a library. And a study. Yet you still work in the kitchen" he mused as he walked in, sitting down across from her by the kitchen isle.

She shrugged.

"It's closer to the food."

"You eat like a bird" he pointed out.

"I'm a complicated creature" she shrugged with a smile.

"What's this?" he peered into her cup in front of her.

"Macha tea" she replied.

He shook his head with a soft smile and slid a folder to her silently.

She looked at the folder, then up at him, his face calm.

"What's this?" she asked, furrowing her brow as she opened the folder.

He waited silently as her eyes darted over the document.

"How...?" she looked back up at him.

Tristan watched her intently.

"Don't you need two parties present to apply for a marriage license?" she asked.

"I got some connections" he explained, his face still unaffected.

"I also stole your passport. And you'll have to sign the application at some point" he added.

She couldn't help the smile spreading on her lips.

She glanced at him, seeing relief in his eyes.

"We can do it whenever, it doesn't expire" he said.

"I'm free tomorrow" she cut him off.

He looked at her, his mouth turning up into a smirk.

"We don't have to rush," he said with a wide smile, "plus I'll have to have this altered to make sure it fits" he said dropping two rings on top of the license.

She focused on the two thin rings, simple, white gold and matte.

"I know you don't wear much jewelry so I wasn't sure you wanted an engagement ring. And I'd like to be able to wear mine. The less light it reflects the better. But if you'd like a different one..."

"It's perfect." she broke him off and he let out a long breath, a wide smile spreading on his lips.

"You sure?" he asked watching as she took her ring, sliding it on her ring finger. It went on smoothly, fitting perfectly.

"I'm sure. And free tomorrow" she said.

"There's no rush," he repeated, "think about what you want to do."

"What do you mean?" she asked her eyes still on the ring, already feeling familiar.

"I don't know. Maybe you want a big gypsy wedding" he smirked and she glanced back up at him.

She smiled, shaking her head.

"I don't want a big gypsy wedding. That's so last year" she replied with a lift of her eyebrow.

He nodded, but she could tell something was still nagging at him.

"I thought maybe you'd want to look your dad up. I know that's a thing" he said, taking a slow, deep breath.

She swallowed.

"Yeah, dad's are a thing" she murmured.

"You know what I mean" he said, apologetic as his fingers traced hers.

She sighed.

"I... I don't see the point. He... he has a daughter. One he raised. I'm sure he's going to want to walk her down the aisle, but us... it's always been complicated and since mom passed... we've barely talked" she explained.

"Okay" he nodded and she had the sense he was backing down despite having a different opinion.

"I can walk myself down the aisle. If we need an aisle. Is that a requirement?" she asked, looking at him with genuine confusion.

"No" he chuckled. "We can do it at city hall. No aisles there."

"That sounds good. Do we need witnesses?" she asked, self-conscious about how little she knew about the whole process.

"We can" he replied.

"I'll call Jimmy" she said, her face lighting up with the idea.

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled" he sighed, his face calm as though he'd already expected her statement.

"He'll want to take pictures" she smiled, glancing at him.

"I'll be sure to use a contour kit" he replied without missing a beat and she chuckled.

"Who do you want? For a witness?" she asked, her voice suddenly unsure.

He thought for a second, his gaze dropping to her finger.

"I'll ask Charlotte" he said quietly.

She smiled, reassured.

"Okay," she nodded, "ask her when it's good for her and we'll do it then."

"You don't want to pick a date?" he asked, his brows furrowed even as he smiled at her eagerness.

"I picked the important thing. The rest is details" she shrugged and he smiled, his hand reaching out to trace the ring on her finger.

"It looks good on you" he murmured.

* * *

She stood in the closet, barefoot, the hardwood floor warm under her feet even as her limbs were preternaturally cold. She stared at the box, or rather where she knew it to be, up on the top shelf where she couldn't see into accidentally. She had placed it there knowingly when she had moved in, not trusting herself to not accidentally glance at it and get violently ill.

She moved, suddenly, gathering her courage and stood on her tiptoes, holding onto the closest shelf to be able to reach up. She stretched her finger, feeling the smooth surface of the box slip further, so she launched herself up into a spring, finding purchase on the side and pulling it closer to the ledge. From there she could grasp it and pull so the box fell softly into her waiting hands.

She took a deep breath, folding her legs beneath her and crouching down to the floor, setting the box in front of her. She opened the lid quickly, but was not prepared for the feeling it unleashed, like the harmless white silk box had been Pandora's herself. She closed her eyes, her fingers clasping the ledges of the box as she steadied her breathing.

When she opened her eyes again, the feeling was a little more under control, not threatening to overwhelm her, but not quite retreating either, a steadily pulsing warning inside of her.

Her fingers separated the tissue paper gently placed on the top and she gasped as her skin touched the soft fabric beneath. It felt cool, even colder than her limbs, heavy and smooth at the same time.

She lifted the dress, the off-white satin fabric emerging from the box like a vision, its wrap design, with the cap sleeves just like she remembered it.

She remembered the day her mother had dragged her to see it, swearing to her that it had called to her, like a sign had, a true and real one this time, and she had to give it to her, when she had walked out of the fitting room, the classic shape of the dress swirling in hushed swivels around her, she had thought it to be a sign too.

Her mother had brought the dress, even though there had been no ring on her finger and no promise, no date set. She had just known it was her dress. For real this time.

She had been so convinced that Rory, in a haze of grief and insomnia, had actually considered burying her in it, before some semblance of clarity had found her the next morning and she had banished the dress back into the white silk box it had been in for years. She had carried the box with her, from storage space to apartments, always finding a secluded spot for it where she wouldn't have to run into it accidentally.

She stared at the dress now, in wonder and contemplated the meaning of it, of what it would mean for her to wear it.

She closed her eyes, imagining the wrap around design, the cap sleeves, the full skirt, the beads and crystals catching light.

The nausea hit her full force.

She gasped for air, stuffing the dress back into the box, not bothering to rearrange the tissue paper before she slammed the lid of the box back on top, resting her arms on the smooth surface as she heaved.

She felt that feeling, that feeling she couldn't just name grief, because it sure as hell never went through stages and because it was more complex, more devastating and more unyielding than any grief could have been.

She wondered if it was her burden to bear, that feeling, never changing and always ready to pounce on her, lest she forgot it was a part of her.

She was foolish to think what she was going through would change it.

She smiled to herself, placating the feeling, bowing before it.

It was the only way to live with it: accept it without a fight, letting it be a part of yourself.

She told herself that perhaps she could regard it as her constant, as her 'something old', while her childish hope and love tied to Tristan could be her 'something new', their time together, her 'something borrowed', and her eyes, the only thing she could bare to have with her from her mother, her 'something blue'.

* * *

In the end it was blue. A dress she found in the back of her closet that she had never worn before. Satin, with a blue skirt and sleeveless thin straps on top that she covered with a darker see through sweater. She chose it because it would go with his uniform and because it made her smile, without condition.

She met him at the courthouse, like he had planned and when she saw him, her heart literally skipped a beat, his striking form tense in his blue uniform. Looking at him now and the way he filled it out, she remembered first seeing him and wondered how she hadn't noticed how frail he looked, the uniform slightly loose around his body back then. Even then, to her, he had seemed healthy, strong, determined, although now she could truly see all the ways he had healed.

It was not just his body, but also his face, smoother, calmer even, the eyes still solemn, but somehow sparkling with a quiet happiness she couldn't deny. Charlotte stood next to him, smiling as she gave Rory a kiss on the cheek, then moved to check how much time they had, leaving the two of them alone.

She watched as the tall, ebony skinned woman walked towards the courtroom and contemplated how much more she appreciated Charlotte now, her response to their news quiet and all-knowing. She didn't ask about proposals, did not glance at her finger to check for over the top engagement rings, instead she seemed to know, with a quite certainty, about reasons and decisions, without them explaining. Her quiet approval, her content smile was all the reassurance and support she needed.

"You look beautiful" Tristan said, diverting her attention from Charlotte as he took her hand and pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes, hugging him tightly to her body.

"You look very hot" she murmured as she pulled back, her hands coming to rest against the decorations on his chest.

"See this is why I don't whip out this uniform often, you go sex crazy from it" he murmured and she chuckled looking up at him.

"Do I now?" she asked, challenging him.

"Tell me that's not what did it for you at the Pentagon" he retorted, a slow smirk spreading on his face.

"I'm sorry, did I jump you at the Pentagon? I don't recall this happening" she mused.

"You were ready to. I had to go change" he sighed mockingly.

"As hot as you look in it, I think I can restrain myself" she rolled her eyes, disentangling herself from his arms.

His hands holding onto hers pulled her back.

"What if I can't?" he murmured, his eyes studying her figure as his face grew solemn, his grasp on her strong.

She studied his face, seeing the overwhelming storm of emotion that was so uncharacteristic of him.

"Try your best, Sergeant Major, otherwise, this wedding is going to be a spectacle" she smiled, trying to keep her voice light as he chuckled humorlessly, his eyes still troubled as they searched hers.

"Rory…" he started, but she cut him off, tiptoeing up to kiss him quickly on the mouth.

"I'm ready, you ready?" she asked against his lips and she felt him smile, with eyes closed.

"I'm ready" he confirmed, kissing her again, his lips eager against hers.

"I think that stuff comes after the affirmations. You two lovebirds ready?" Charlotte said as she walked up to them, Jimmy snapping a picture from next to her.

"Yes" he said, taking her hand as he turned towards the hall. She followed him, heart beating in her throat and she felt surprise at the sudden and overwhelming nerves. She tried to identify the reason, her throat constricting as she felt the tears build up in her eyes.

She wondered why all that still happened. Why she had to experience fear every time her heart felt light and happy, why she had to feel dread, every time she was filled with hope. She felt an instant torrent of anger at herself, tears welling in her eyes as she scolded herself.

"Look at me" she heard him say and she inhaled sharply, her blue eyes meeting his pale ones, so much calmer than a minute ago, but still full of emotion. She felt an instant current of peace. She focused on his eyes, calm and true, centering her whirlwind of emotions around those reliable shining orbs, his gaze never faltering and she found herself answering the questions without fear or hesitation, her smile mirrored on his lips.

* * *

She opened the door as he stood on the side watching her.

She started to go inside, but he pulled her back, swooping her into his arms in a quick instant.

She gasped catching her purchase on him, her arms going around his neck.

"A little old fashioned, don't you think?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

He ignored her remark, shutting the door with his feet.

He carried her across the living room, setting her down on the couch as he knelt down next to her.

She chuckled at the theatrics.

"I love you" he said and she froze, her eyes darting to his in an instant.

She felt time slow, her eyes focusing on his, the silence of the house surrounding them. She felt the words sink into her, her whole being rearranged around the weight of them. She realized that it was the first time either of them had ever said it. She wondered what his last time saying that had been, or if he'd ever even had a chance to say it to anyone and have it be true. Then she thought about herself and she realized that the last time she had ever said it to anyone, it had been her mother.

He searched her eyes and she nodded, her throat a dry lump.

"I love you too" she mouthed, not trusting her voice.

She saw his face react, not with a smile of joy but with the slightest nod of recognition, as if he'd seen into her mind and understood the strange complexity, power and might of those words.

He kissed her, his hand going to the back of her neck as he pulled her impossibly close. He climbed over her, carefully, gently, his weight holding her in place even as she thought she would float away, too happy or too overwhelmed, she couldn't say. She let him undress her slowly, his eyes darting back to her own every couple of seconds, his lips trailing kisses on each new surface of skin that was exposed to him. She closed her eyes, hands grasping the strands of his hair as he moved down her body, his movements unrushed as he took his time exploring her. She concentrated on the feel of his lips, so soft but sure, her skin lighting on fire wherever he touched her.

He came back up to kiss her and it was slow and persistent, his weight once again settling around her, like a certain and safe presence, her fears and doubts dissipating under the constant pressure from gravity.

She gasped as she felt him slip inside her slowly, her attention redirected, her cells realigning, her nerve endings all tuning towards the sensation. She opened her eyes, seeing him watching her intently, his body patient and unmoving until she urged him with a gentle tug. He moved then, with small, slow thrusts and she arched into him, the warmth spreading through her, from inside out.

"I love you" he said again and she gasped, a quiet sob escaping from her as her defenses crumbled. He moved, steadily, skillfully, repeating his declaration over and over again, until the sound of it became familiar and weightless, murmuring it into her skin over and over again until she came apart in his arms.


	23. Fall for pretty strangers

Author's note: So I've been discretely told to shut it in my AN's, so I'm just going to quickly thank you all for your feedback. Hereforethe, I keep your heart in my showcase with my signed George Michael CD and other prized possessions.

See, no hints about possible angst or foreshadowing in here... muhahahaha.

* * *

He had been home for a full three weeks after the elopement and she figured it wasn't a coincidence. She wondered how it worked and how long of a break they gave him but she didn't ask.

They didn't have a proper honeymoon, but they went down to the beach in Delaware for a couple of days, spending it at a bed and breakfast.

They hardly spent any time on the beach, staying in their room instead. The window overlooked the ocean and she spent hours on the balcony, watching the waves.

He spent hours in bed, devotedly pleasing her again and again, reveling in her cries of pleasure.

She finally convinced him to actually go down the the surf, baiting him in her blue bikini.

He wore a long-sleeved shirt, covering his arm and she wondered if he was still conscious about the scars. They seemed to have faded since he'd been back to work, the middle-eastern sun smoothing out his ragged skin.

"I don't think anyone would stare at your scars" she said to him as they were standing in the water, waves lapping at their feet.

He looked at her squinting for a second.

"That's not why I cover up" he said chuckling.

"Then why?" she asked.

"The god damn tattoos" he said and she furrowed her brows not understanding. She thought of the tattoos she spent long hours tracing. The one on the top of his back with the birds and the knight with 'Se Opresso Liber', the special forces motto. And the one on his left arm that, even half destroyed, identified his affiliation.

"It was stupid to get them. It's like wearing a fucking billboard on your body. Jake says it will keep me from ever getting captured" he smirked.

"Why?" she asked.

"It would pretty much tell them right away who they got, so I'll have to make sure I'm never caught" he said.

She felt a chill run down her spine, even in the summer heat and he must have sensed it, because he pulled her close, kissing her to distract her.

"I'm ready to go back to our room" he murmured.

* * *

She woke from her slumber as they pulled into the driveway, the setting sun turning the front yard into a blazing vineyard.

"Hey, we're here" he nudged her gently and she stretched, getting out of the car.

He was at the trunk already, lifting out their bags and he caught up with her walking towards the house.

She barely followed what happened next, the sudden shouts and movements catching her off guard.

"Oh, dear god" she heard him moan from behind her as a guy dressed in camouflage leaped towards him and tackled him to the ground.

She shrieked in horror as she saw two others jump from the bushes and lift Tristan off the ground. It took her a moment to realize it was Spinner, Vince and Billy.

"Guys, seriously" he groaned as they carried him towards the street.

"What the hell is going on?" she shouted then gasped as a fourth person appeared next to her. It was Jake, Stella's husband.

"Belated bachelor party" he grinned, before taking off after the guys.

"Are you kidding me?" she groaned, steadying her racing heart.

She watched as Tristan was stuffed in the car, Dylan at the wheel. She looked on as Tristan glanced back at her, his face apologetic as they sped away.

She sighed and picked up the bags, carrying them towards the house.

* * *

She woke disoriented, hearing the snickering and whispering through the open window. She liked to keep it open at night, the cool air moving through the house in a light breeze after nightfall.

She stretched, glancing at the alarm clock, it was 5:27.

She sighed, moving to the window, seeing Tristan and Jake crawling through the front yard, obviously inebriated.

She put her robe on and walked down the stairs, wrangling her tresses into a ponytail.

She opened the door just in time to see Jake help Tristan up when they reached the stairs.

"Contact. Wait out" Jake whispered to Tristan and he snickered in return, pulling himself up straight.

"Jake, you've met my beautiful wife, Rory" Tristan said, clearly wasted.

"Oh, dear god" she groaned walking up to him to support him from the other side.

He slid his arm around her and kissed the side of her face. He reeked of alcohol.

"Jesus, what did you give him?" she sighed.

"About three bottles of Jack" Jake snickered.

"Nice" she rolled her eyes.

"You need help carrying him up the stairs?" Jake asked, stumbling on his own feet as they crossed the porch.

"No, I think you've helped enough" she replied. "You got a ride?" she asked turning back.

"Yes ma'am, cab's waiting out front" he saluted her.

"Alright, tell Stella I feel her pain" she replied with a smirk.

He laughed.

"Will do."

She closed the door, Tristan slumping over her.

"Alright, let's aim for the couch" she groaned, knowing they wouldn't make it up the stairs.

"Mary, Mary, Mary" he sighed. "Do you know how much I love you?"

She chuckled.

"This explains why you don't ever get wasted around me" she gritted out as they made it to the couch.

She pushed him down and he collapsed into the cushions.

"I can't believe you're mine. I've wanted you since I was 16" he mumbled, his eyes already closed.

"Did you have fun with your boys?" she asked, wiping his face.

"Yeah, they were a little irked they only found out about it after the fact" he replied, his words jumbled.

"Well, it looks like they got over it" she chuckled.

He opened his eyes, the pale blue orbs focusing on her slowly.

"I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life" he said and her heart swelled.

"You should get drunk more often" she smiled, kissing him softly.

He smiled before closing his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

He got a call one night and she knew their little honeymoon phase was over.

He listened to the line reacting with an occasional "yes" while he watched her with concerned eyes.

She went upstairs to start packing his usual stuff.

She heard him come into the room and sit on the bed.

"I'm only leaving in the morning" he said and she smiled, the anxiety in her chest not disappearing.

"Good, what time?" she asked.

"Early. Spinner will pick me up" he said.

"On his chopper?" she asked, turning towards him with an eyebrow arched.

"He got a Mustang" he replied.

"Ahhh," she smiled, reaching him and coming to stand between his legs, her hands going around his neck, "how original."

She kissed him, slowly, softly and he closed his eyes.

"Tell him your wife can drive you" she murmured.

He shook his head.

"You'll be too tired" he said, pulling her down on the bed and rolling her over.

"Yeah?" she asked, her mouth twisting into a smile.

"Yeah" he nodded, before moving down to pull her skirt up.

"What's your plan here?" she asked, her voice tingling with laughter.

"You're my wife" he said, lips kissing a trail down her exposed abdomen.

"The certificate seems to state so" she hummed.

"And I'm going off to work" he went on, his fingers hooking into her panties.

"Either that or you've got a really elaborate double life scheme going on" she replied, lifting her hips to help him in his task.

"I feel like I need to be able to recall a myriad sexual escapades to keep me warm at night while I'm there" he explained, matter of factly.

"My contra is gonna be a, you'll probably be sweating your socks off where you're going and b, I think you have quite the list of references already" she replied with obvious snark.

She arched her back cursing as his tongue traced her slit, her cynicism forgotten.

"My contra is a, actually, not quite and b, I need references of my wife, not my living-in-sin girlfriend" he breathed out, the warm breath tickling her center.

"Where are you going?" her eyes snapped open as she tensed, picking up on his comment.

"Right now?" he breathed latching on to her clit and making her cry out in pleasure. "Right here."

Her hands went to his head, digging into his hair as she panted.

"Tristan" she whimpered and it was meant to bring him back to the conversation but in all honesty, it sounded like a plea for him to go on and do whatever he was doing down there.

He seemed to have gathered that as well, because his mouth continued her assault while two fingers curled into her.

She felt her center spasm within minutes and she moaned out loud as he set her off, his tongue circling her clit determinedly.

"Jesus Christ, Rory I love it when you cum" he groaned, climbing up over her.

"Tristan," she said, her voice still unsteady from her orgasm, "where are you going?" she pleaded.

He sighed, brushing hair back from her face.

"Mary," he murmured, "dirty memories of my wife, remember? We've got a shitload on my wish list still."

"I thought being your wife came with a little more info" she sighed.

He looked at her, holding onto her as he rolled over to his back.

"I'll tell you, okay? But first, I wanna see you ride me" he bargained, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint.

She looked down on him, his eyes hooded and focused on her and she traced his chest with her fingers lightly.

She felt him relax under her touch, sensing she'd given up trying to drill him for facts and committed to making this night last.

Her fingers went to the buttons on her shirt and she slowly unbuttoned them, watching his eyes follow the process. His hands helped her discard the shirt and traced the newly exposed skin, making her shiver.

"So, what's on this list?" she asked, taking his hand in hers and guiding it to her chest as she ground her center into his growing erection.

He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut and a smirk appearing on his face.

"Mostly you cuming all over me" he murmured.

She undid his pants and slid it off of him, climbing up and meeting his expectant erection.

"What about this?" she said, grasping him and sucking him into her mouth.

"Yeah, that too" he gritted out, exhaling heavily as he hit the back of her throat.

His fingers wound into her hair and she felt him groan with each movement of her mouth.

"Fuck, I love your mouth," he whispered reverently, "but I gotta see you."

He pulled her up and repositioned her over himself, his hand going to his cock.

"Come, sit on me" he instructed her and she felt her center clench, his words exciting her.

She did as she was told, coming to rest on top of him as he slowly guided himself into her. She focused on his eyes as she felt him fill her, a sigh escaping her lips.

He watched her, eyes studying her face even as she saw his muscles contract in pleasure, as though he wanted to record everything in his memory.

It made her falter, the feeling filling her with an indescribable dread even as she felt the waves of pleasure wash over her.

"I love you" she whispered and she heard him release a sound akin to a sob.

"I love you" he echoed her, pulling her down onto him with determined force.

They came together, their bodies convulsing as their muffled cries filled the room.

* * *

When she woke up, he was gone. She found a note on her laptop keyboards.

 _You're really behind on all the registration stuff. Stella can help you. Please do it._

 _Also, you blow my mind and I love you._

 _Be back soon._

 _T_

She smiled and her eyes landed on the laptop screen. There was a page open on the browser and she read it, her brows furrowed. It was a Newsweek article about the Russian annexation of the Crimea. She sighed. Yeah, certainly not very warm there.

* * *

The registrations he was referring to were for the DEERS – the Defense Enrollement Eligibility Reporting System. It was for benefits and she was now eligible as the wife of a serviceman. The thought made her laugh out loud. She was _married_. Absurd.

She kept her own name. It seemed like the obvious choice, what with his fake identity, plus Mrs. DuGray just reminded her of the stone cold bitch she'd met in Hartford.

The registration was complicated. It was confusing to her and she didn't much see the point, but he had been adamant since he had found out she basically had no insurance coverage since she'd been doing freelance.

"That's just plain stupid, Rory" he had remarked and she couldn't argue much. So, she begrudgingly filled out the forms and also applied for an ID which Stella told her would make her getting into the base more simple. Up until now she always had to wait out the triple check whenever she went to pick up Tristan.

Stella also noted she would get a discount at Home Depot so it was as good a reason as any.

Stella was a lot of help and she came over every now and then when she splurged on a babysitter. They would drink wine and chat on the porch, the no nonsense character of her newfound friend making her heart lighter.

They'd gossip about Vince's tumultuous affair with Vicky, someone who was apparently slowly being promoted from 'random' status.

"I think he told her" Stella said one evening as they were sitting outside watching the dark shade of the magnolia tree.

"Yeah, how do you know?" Rory asked with a giggle.

"That barbecue we had two weeks ago? When Vince was telling that story about being in the Rangers and all of the guys countered with their own stories? I think it just clicked for her. I saw her storm off and he went after her" her friend explained in between sips of wine.

"The barbecue at Donna's? I walked in on them having sex" Rory whispered, her face warming as she recalled the scene and her horror.

"What?" Stella snorted, her wine dangerously close to escaping through her nose.

"I went to the bathroom and saw her on the sink with him between her leg" Rory mouthed, her hand gesturing.

Stella doubled over with laughter.

"Well, now we know how he convinced her to be okay with it" she said, her gurgles of laughter quieting.

"They seem volatile" Rory murmured, squinting as she recalled the very similar start to her own relationship with Tristan.

"You think? I don't know if that is great foundation for a relationship in Delta" Stella sighed, her words cynical.

"What is a good foundation for a relationship in Delta?" Rory countered with a raised eyebrow and Stella chuckled, taking another sip of her wine.

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know if I find out" she deadpanned.

* * *

She went on assignments but she was reluctant to go on bigger trips, always hoping he'd be back sooner rather than later.

It seemed that he was getting assignments more frequently, sometimes only being home for a couple of days at a time. She also realized they were called to assist domestic situations and she spent days researching the cooperation of FBI Hostage Rescue Team and the Special Forces.

"It means they're a top team" Stella would tell her. "They are in high demand, you should be proud. That's all Tristan."

She sighed, her pride not nearly enough to balance the worry she felt. It was like she was holding her breath every time he left.

She took up the habit of turning on CNN every time he left abruptly. She would listen casually, while she went around the house doing chores or worked on a story.

If there would be a breaking news story about a shooting, or a hostage situation, she would feel a weird mix of self loathing and relief at the same time. Self loathing because she was essentially rooting for domestic tragedies, but relief because one of these situations would mean short missions. If there was no news story within a day, it would make her feel uneasy, because that most likely meant something confidential, and confidential usually meant overseas. And overseas usually meant the Middle East. And the Middle East was unpredictable. He would call her eventually but a call only verified what she already suspected: he was gone for a longer time.

His voice always seemed calm though, over the phone, and that made her feel better. He was strangely stoic, happy almost, as if being on the other side of the world, focusing on rescuing hostages or eliminating targets grounded him.

He checked in, but never seemed to talk about what was going on over there. It was always calm, as though he carefully picked the time to call her.

He always called the landline first, never her cell. If he didn't reach her, he'd reluctantly try her cell. If she didn't pick up, he'd leave a message. It was always the same message ( _Hey, it's me. I'm fine. I'll check back tomorrow..._ ) and then he'd leave a time, her time, even with the time difference.

"Why do you bother calling the landline? Why don't you just call my cell?" she asked him once.

"I like you on the landline" he said, but what he meant was he liked knowing she was home, "I don't like to bother you if you're somewhere else."

She figured it was strange for him. Wherever he was calling from, it was a different world, a different life. She imagined that to hear the sounds of his other reality, a busy street, a restaurant, other people in the background, unnerved him. She imagined she would be the same. She would want an anchor, a quiet voice at the other end of the line that she could picture.

So, she made sure to be there, the house quiet at the time he promised he'd call back. Even if she was on assignment, she'd be in a hotel room, quiet, trying to make it so he could still picture her at home.

The conversations were everything and still not quite enough. He never got too intimate. He never flirted or teased. There were no innuendos.

She asked about this once, her composure stretched thin by weeks of him being away, and his voice over the line making her anxious and aroused at the same time.

"Do you ever think about having me?"

There was a pause at the end of the line but she couldn't hear him sigh.

"Yes" his answer was careful, controlled.

"Do you ever think about telling me about it?" she asked, her voice dangerous, probing.

"I can't do that, Rory" he replied.

"Why?" she asked and suddenly a dozen explanations flashed through her mind. Were they being listened to? Was he not alone? Or did he just feel he needed to stay in control?

"I have to be grounded. You are dangerous. You unground me" he offered and she laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Also, I don't need to give the intel team a visual of you" he murmured.

She hummed, her suspicions proving to be true.

"But Rory?" he asked.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Everything you think about? Everything you imagine? I want all of that" he said.

It stayed with her for days, what he'd said. She felt out of place, unable to focus, her mind drifting back to his words.

"How do you cope?" she asked Stella when she was over at her place.

She'd just watched Stella single handedly wrangle both her overly active kids and put them to bed, while also cleaning up the kitchen after making a delicious home cooked meal that Rory was astonished by.

Stella snorted.

"Girl, I've been doing this a while" she said. "It ain't easy, but it ain't rocket science either."

Rory smiled wryly.

"Or are we talking about sex deprivation here?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

Rory almost spit her wine back into her glass as she burst out laughing.

"I feel like having two rowdy children help with that problem for me," Stella said, "but yeah, I used to miss it… a lot."

She looked at her friend sitting across from her by the kitchen table.

"I guess its weird with you guys being newlywed and all" she studied her and Rory dropped her gaze nervously.

"All I can say is get yourself a vibrator" she chuckled, "trust me, he'll like it too, once he is back."

* * *

His returns were unpredictable. Sometimes she would know ahead for days, sometimes even weeks. Other times he'd just show up and she wondered if it was because he didn't want to make promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

She awoke once to his strong and warm embrace and she gasped, disoriented, as he pulled her close.

"It's me" he whispered and she wasn't quite sure it wasn't a very vivid dream until she felt him eager and wanting against her, the haze clouding her mind slowly dissipating as she responded to his kisses.

"You're back" she murmured, relieved as she felt him climb over her, kneeling between her legs as he spread them.

"You smell like heaven" he replied into the nook of her neck and she chuckled lightly, her amusement turning to desire when she felt his fingers ready her.

"I missed you" she whispered and he moaned in response, lifting her hips with his hands.

"I can tell" he said, with a dark chuckle, his fingers soaked from her suddenly awakened desire.

"Shut up" she scolded him and he chuckled again.

"I thought you liked me vocal" he murmured as he pushed into her, watching as she arched her back and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Shit, you're tight" he gasped, pulling back slowly.

"It's been a while" she responded, accommodating his eager thrust.

"You're telling me? I've been hard since that fucking phone call, Mary" he gritted out as he leaned back on his knees, pulling her up against his hips.

She moaned, imagining him thinking about her and trying to control his urges.

"I'm sorry, did I get inside your head?" she giggled.

"I'm starting to think you never got out of it" he groaned, licking his finger before lowering it to her center.

She let out another throaty moan as she felt him circle her clit, her body going rigid as she felt the first torrents rake her.

"Oh god" she cried out as she came, feeling him empty into her with powerful jerks.

She felt him collapse over her, panting hard, his hands smoothing over her arm.

She pulled him closer, breathing in his scent.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

She smiled as an answer.

Her mind drifted to his words, a nagging feeling waking inside her, like a blinking flame catching fire.

"I don't want you to get distracted by me" she said, her words careful.

His eyes flashed to hers, his face becoming solemn.

"That's gonna be tough" he said with a slow smile.

She felt the anxiety in her chest grow and it was as though he sensed it, pulling her with him as he rolled onto his back.

"Mary, I got this, okay? I have decades of practice of wanting you but not being able to have you. Don't worry about it" he sighed, closing his eyes as his face relaxed, perhaps for the first time in weeks.

"Worrying is all I do" she murmured, not really sure she wanted him to hear.

He sighed, letting her know he did.

"You seem to manage to squeeze in some travel in between" he said, opening an eye to regard her pointedly.

She looked at him with a curious expression.

"Do you have eyes on me again, Sergeant Major?" she asked.

"You know I do, Rory" he sighed, his fingers wiping his eyes and she realized how tired he was.

"I wasn't granted entry to Istanbul" Rory said, her eyes squinting as she watched for his reaction.

"I know" he sighed, his face blank.

"Did you have something to do with that?" she asked, suddenly enlightened.

"No, but your series on Fethullah Gülen might have" he retorted as he opened his eyes to look at her pointedly.

She felt the surprise on her face only for a second, before she was reminded that he seemed to know every story she published even before it actually came out independent of whether she'd had the chance to talk to him about it or not.

"You seriously think it's a good idea to go to a fucking dictatorship after you've interviewed the guy trying to orchestrate a coup against it?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I wasn't condoning his efforts" she said defensively.

"Rory" he groaned massaging his eyes with his fingers.

"Well, I literally got turned back from the airport, so you have nothing to worry about" she retorted in a huff.

"Why can't you do more of those striptease deep dives?" he chuckled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, were you not satisfied, just now?" she quipped.

"Eh" he replied and chuckled as she smacked him on his arm.

He pulled her close to him, stopping her from further attacks and she sighed, burrowing into his hold.

"I missed you" she whispered and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

"I missed you too" he replied, his words already drowsy.

* * *

This time there was smoke, drifting between the trees and she wondered why it didn't sting her eyes or make her cough. There were flashing lights lighting up the smoke cloud, dense between the trees and she heard shouts too, as she made her way through the forest.

When she arrived at the clearing, ready to step out from under the trees she felt a hand grab her hand and she looked to her left, startled. It was Stella, holding a finger to her mouth, motioning to her to stay quiet before she pointed towards the far end of the clearing. She followed the direction she was indicating and squinted against the smoke, seeing a huge black bird crashing into a lone tree.


	24. Promises they hold

Author's note: Oh, kids, sorry for putting you through the wringer. But I mean, it's not titled _Delta Joy and Fun Times_!

Also, at least you are starting to get an idea of what it's like to be inside my head, lol. I'm telling you, it's a mist of angst and obsession!

Anyways, because I don't wanna keep you hanging and I want to give thanks to all of you, old readers and new (hi Droolia! impressive reading speed!), here is a chapter extra quickly.

* * *

Being married seemed to ease her mind only for a while. She could tell, because the dreams were back, with a vengeance, laced with images of him and his crew, only easing slightly in frequency when he was home sleeping next to her. She would watch him sleep sometimes, the calmness on his face unnerving and she would try to listen to the wordless signs of his body, deciphering meaning from things that weren't even there.

The first couple of hours whenever he was back were indicators, a sort of litmus test for her. They wee sizing each other up, him wearily searching her eyes for signs of dread and anxiety that she tried to hide, while her hopelessly trying to see behind his quiet resolve. She felt like they had to realign and she read his mood carefully watching for signs and clues. Sometimes they would be in sync, picking up where they left off, but sometimes she felt like on the first day of school, not knowing what to expect, but hoping with overwhelming enthusiasm, her heart racing as excitement and nerves mixed into a strange cloud of feelings. Intimacy helped, and more often than not it was their go-to way to reconnect, their bodies finding their connection sooner than their minds.

His need for her was a reliable constant, but every now and then he would be seemingly tired, or still wound up or preoccupied and she would have to consciously remind herself that intimacy wasn't the be-all and end-all. She reminded herself to be patient, adjusting herself to his moods and reactions. The words of Charlotte echoed in her mind always, and if she felt overwhelmed or unsure, she would look down on her hand, twist the white gold ring and feel reassured.

She realized there was a rhythm to her feelings when he returned.

First careful hope.

Then reassurance, often laced with the suddenly reinvigorated need.

And finally, the quiet worry, reignited as the days passed and she sensed the new mission on the horizon.

She wondered how it worked with the other crew members and their spouses. She found Stella's life to be different from hers, the blonde, seemingly careless girl's life built around her husband's, while she managed the every day struggles of raising two kids basically alone with an enviable ease. Gina was a school teacher and had just married, but had been with Dylan for several years and was eager to procreate. Donna had given birth not so long ago but was already pregnant, apparently a surprise, but something she carried with a quiet smile, even as Rory felt worried for her. Rory marveled at the blatant bravery that these women displayed by simply living their lives as if nothing had been amiss. As if their spouses weren't off doing dangerous missions weekly. Rory instead felt a sense of relief in all of them and it took her a while to understand why.

These women, they all had been with their spouses for a while and they have endured long deployments, moves to different states and a perpetual state of waiting for what came next. Delta was a welcome change, supplying some stability to the families, without having to move around, even if the missions were completely unpredictable. These women, all devoted to their husbands, some with careers that always played second fiddle, all taking any turn of event with a quiet calm, they seemed to have fared better than her, even if they had no idea where their husbands were half of the time. She wondered how they managed to compartmentalize the worry, while being able to focus on providing a steady life for their family, basically carrying the role of both parents. They had a different rhythm to their life and she wondered if her unrooted life, her chaotic work schedule that resembled Tristan's in a lot of ways, made their own relationship more or less conventional. She found she needed the assignments to keep her mind occupied and keep herself from worrying about Tristan. It didn't stop her obsessing, but it muted the worry, the thoughts a quiet background noise in her mind.

"How do you not give in? I feel like it's a whirlpool, worrying, it pulls you in" she asked Stella one time.

"I clean the house. I bake a pie. I pray" the blonde laughed.

"I'm not good at any of that" Rory wondered out loud.

"You don't pray?" Stella asked, looking at her with restrained curiosity.

She sighed, her gaze dropping.

Religion was not something she was familiar with. When she grew up, it wasn't a part of their everyday lives, even though one of the first memories was playing with the golden cross on her mother's neck. It was something she never took off, even though she never talked about it. Her childhood friend, Lane, had a complicated and dissonant relationship with her faith, revolting against it, but falling back into it in times of distress and she always wondered about that, how her life would have been different had she been raised with a sense of faith.

She had asked her mother about it once, about why she wasn't raised with a certain belief and her mother had told her "Your beliefs are your own to find". When she'd gone through what she had, the thought of any sort of faith unnerved her. She watched the different ceremonies on her trips, people worshiping and praying, but she got no sense of ease or peace from any of them.

"I don't know how to" she shrugged "I'm not religious."

Stella studied her for a minute and she sat down across from her.

"What do you do, when you are worried about him?" she asked.

Rory sighed, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she shrugged.

"I don't know" she shook her head, trying to find the right answer. "I have to stop myself from imagining things I don't know and have to focus on things I do know. I try to think think about how smart and calm he is, I think about how he had gotten through worse things than I could ever imagine. I think about how I trust him, think about how he deserves whatever he wants because he's fought and worked so hard. And I hope all that means something" she finished, looking up into Stella's warm, brown eyes.

Her friend smiled.

"I call that praying" she said and Rory chuckled, the heaviness in her chest instantly feeling lighter. She looked at her friend, this woman who she had come to rely on, her character a strange mix of incredible strength and soft feminine hope. Their eyes connected and she felt her whole body relax, her smile matching hers.

* * *

It had been the longest time he'd been gone since they'd gotten married. She hardly even heard from him over the holidays, which helped her ignore the fact they were there, something she was thankful for.

It had been close to three months when he came back and kissing him felt like their first kiss, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He held her close to him for long time, swaying her gently in his arm and she felt the quiet distance, the careful restrain in him even as she was ready to do whatever he would have wanted.

She tried to hold in the bitter disappointment when he kissed her on the top of her head and opted to take a bath upstairs. She steeled herself and tried to focus on him, his mood, instead of anticipating what she might need. He seemed to have been exhausted both physically and emotionally, yet he had a hard time sleeping and she heard him turning restlessly on his side of the bed deep into the night.

At first she chalked it up to jet lag but she found him sitting in the armchair in the bedroom in the middle of the night with the small reading lamp on several times even after he'd been back more than a week.

Their routine of getting back in sync was also slower this time around and he seemed to be distracted often. She thought he was just not in the mood to ravish her like he usually did when he came back but she caught him staring at her with hungry eyes as she blow dried her hair or got dressed.

The one time they had been together, he seemed to be holding back, careful to the point of making her frustrated.

She wondered if she'd taken their ability to be intimate for granted.

She woke again and found him watching her from his chair, the book in his lap seemingly abandoned.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, turning her light on and pulling herself up against the headboard.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. It's... so quiet here. It's nice, but... I have to get used to it" he smiled.

She swallowed, wondering if she should take advantage of the opening.

"It wasn't quiet where you slept?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

He studied her for a second as if weighing his options about engaging.

"We were based in a power plant for a while, now that I come to think of it, I probably miss that constant buzz" he said slowly, studying her reaction.

She noted that word, ' _miss_ ', and her face must have conveyed her reaction to it, because she saw his face become solemn as he studied her.

She scolded herself, for not being able to keep her disappointment at bay and off her face. She sighed, wondering when that would end, each of them walking on eggshells and curbing their expressions.

Whatever their last mission was, it must have been intense. She knew better than to push for info though.

"You wanna come join me? I can produce a buzz if it helps" she asked, playfully.

He smiled, a swift reaction, but his eyes remained burdened.

"Yeah, in a bit" he said, his hand going to his mouth as he watched her.

She kept her face emotionless, not giving away her surprise and tried to not let the rejection overwhelm her.

"You okay?" she asked and the flash of his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He didn't reply, again weighing his options.

"This… was a tough one" he said and she held her breath waiting to see if he'd go on. He didn't.

He wasn't one to ever admit defeat or mull over failures. He took them in stride, always focusing on next steps, solutions. He didn't dwell on stuff. She wondered what he must have seen, to make him feel so lost and detached. She thought about the time when he was going to hearings, his demeanor solemn, but not quite as broken as she saw him now and the thought made her shiver, that something even colder, even more devastating must have taken place during that last mission.

"Where exactly was ' _this_ '?" she asked, her voice careful.

He dropped his gaze, swallowing thickly.

"Aleppo" he said, not elaborating.

She felt a shudder pass through her as she nodded, images flashing before her eyes. She'd suspected as much, her constant research narrowing down conflicts that where messy enough for him to be away that long and severe enough for him not to be able to keep in touch regularly.

"I feel like you're still there in your mind" she said, absent minded and his eyes flashed to hers in surprise.

"I'm… no, it's just…" he shook his head.

"What?" she prompted him.

"I have your arguments in my head all the time" he said, his hand running through his messy hair.

"My arguments?" she squinted, not understanding.

"From when we first started seeing each other" he said with a wry smile.

"Tristan. I thought we were passed all that. We don't have to agree on every…" she started, but he cut her off.

"I think we agree…" he said and she looked at him, understanding. "It's just, I always thought I see the bigger picture. That I understand the general concept and I don't have to bother with the burden of making the decisions" he said, his gaze dropping to the book in his lap.

"That changed?" she asked, her voice cautious.

"I think it's because I'm in charge of them. I'm responsible for them. When I was following orders, it was easy to compartmentalize. Now… it's… tougher" he said and she thought of his crew, thought of their easy rapport, their obvious trust in him. She thought of Stella going on and on about his qualities, accomplishments.

"For what it's worth, they adore you, Tristan. What you felt? That conviction? That freedom to just do what you were good at without thinking about the burden? You provide that for them" she said, trying to reassure him.

He nodded, but he didn't seem convinced.

"That's good."

She felt a little lighter, even though she wasn't convinced the conversation did the same for him. She studied him, not seeing any apparent relief.

"Is that what keeps you up at night?" she asked, suspecting no.

He looked up at her, with weary eyes and she felt the tension inside her chest.

"Or is there something else?" she asked, bracing herself.

"What are your nightmares about?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

She inhaled sharply, the question taking her by surprise. She didn't recall having any since he'd been back, but then again, she couldn't say for sure. Either way, she deducted denial wasn't an option.

"It's nothing. I don't know. It's a jumble of things" she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

"You were shouting my name" he said.

She looked up in shock, understanding slowly dawning in her.

"Are you… are you scared of me?" he asked, his voice vulnerable, something that rarely happened.

She had to laugh out, but his serious expression made her stop, her heart aching.

"Of course not" she said, shaking her head.

She found the notion ridiculous, but it explained his behavior, his keeping his distance from her.

"Then what is it?" he asked, his face in a frown.

She sighed, brushing hair back from her face.

"It used to be just her" she said, frowning as the words left her mouth.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Your mom?" he asked, face anxious.

She nodded, not able to look at him.

"Not her as in her in person, more like her voice, her presence. I sense her but I can never reach her. And the reason for that always changes with every dream" she explained, closing her eyes as the fragments of dreams flashed before her.

"What is it now?" he asked, focusing on what she would have liked him to ignore.

She looked up, her face defeated and it was as though he read her mind.

"Oh" he said, understanding.

"I'm worried for you, you don't have to interrogate me to know that" she sighed.

He looked at her with a slow shake of his head.

"I'm not interrogating, Rory."

She sighed, not liking the turn of the conversation. She tried to regroup herself, tried not to blame, tried to understand his mindframe.

"I know you have responsibilities. I know it's a lot of pressure on you and I think you are doing incredible. And I know you think you're failing at your role back here, but you aren't. You are not what's giving me nightmares. You're not even the reason. You're just a theme" she shrugged comically.

"I'm not sure about that" he said, his face contorted in pain as he listened to her.

"Tristan, I chose you. I did it on my own volition. And you chose me. Knowing all this. This is the commitment part" she said, smiling an uneasy smile.

"I know. I'm sorry" he said, furrowing his brows as he dropped his gaze.

She let the silence settle around them.

"Why don't you come here?" she whispered, hoping his mind had been eased.

"In a minute" he smiled, the smile still not reaching his eyes.

She tilted her head.

"Is there something else bothering you?" she asked.

He smiled a wry smile.

"I'm working on it, just bare with me" he whispered and she sighed, trying to let go of the frustration.

"I know you want me" she said, regarding him as he inhaled deeply.

"Of course, I do" he shook his head, his hand going to the back of his neck.

"Why are you holding back, then?" she asked.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair, his hand grasping the armrests.

She wondered what he was feeling, so she tried to put herself in his place. How it must feel like to come back, from months of intense, soulless or overwhelming work, where he had to be rough, emotionless and ruthless; to somewhere where there were comfortable beds, reassuring calm and a woman waiting for you, soft and sweet. She suddenly felt stupid expecting him to go through the transition without a hitch, without feeling like he was a bull in a china shop.

She wondered how she could help, how she could let him know he didn't have to hold back.

"Why did you think I was afraid of you?" she asked, seeing him frown again.

"I don't know" he murmured, his fingers worrying the wood of the armrest.

She took a breath, trying to change her tactic.

"Do you think about home when you're there?" she asked, trying to nudge him gently.

He remained silent, his eyes drifting off.

"I guess I do" he said, smiling wryly, looking around the room.

She wondered if he had ever had the chance to become attached to the house, given the small amount of time he actually spent there. She felt like the house grew on her, its nooks and spaces becoming familiar, feeling safe, its quiet protection surrounding her at all times.

"Do you think of me when you're there?" she asked softly, drawing his attention back to her and he looked at her puzzled.

"Yes" he replied cautiously.

"What do you think about?" she asked, her voice deep.

"I have to be smart about it" he smirked and she blushed, remembering a time she tempted him over the phone.

"Smart?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. I can't trail off. You'd make me trail off. So, I have a rule" he explained.

"What rule?" she smiled, genuinely curious.

"I can only think about you when I'm in bed. When I'm in bed I'm vulnerable anyway. If I die while in bed, no one will judge me" he stated matter of factly.

The sentence and the casual way he said it made her heartbeat falter.

"You think you'll die when you think about me?" she asked surprised, the thought sending a sense of dread through her.

"If anyone can distract me it's you, Rory" he said, not the first time he described the sentiment and the declaration made her shiver.

"What do you think about?" she asked, her tone solemn.

"It's mostly memories I guess. I think about you in the bathtub. I think about you in my lap on the porch. I think about the moment I put that ring on your finger. I think about the first time I saw you naked. I think about whether you think about me" he said, his voice a low murmur, that made her shiver.

"I think about you" she replied, her whole body alert.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal and she felt the mood shift, the air growing heavy around them.

"Yeah" she whispered, suddenly feeling reassured.

The mood seemed to surround them, electricity charging in the air, her skin igniting with hot heat as his eyes traveled over her.

"Do you want a visual?" she asked, her voice dropping to a murmur as his body tensed in the chair as if he were keeping himself from rushing to her.

She smiled faintly. The darkness was a thick blanket around them and with just the small light on, she couldn't quite see his exact expression.

"For future reference" she added, a small smirk in place.

She felt unsteady, feeling the weight of the risk she was taking, but she took his silence as reassurance.

"Tell me what you want to see" she said, her skin forming goosebumps.

She held her breath, thinking he might not reply at all.

"Touch yourself" he said the words quietly, but they rang loud in her ear.

She felt her heartbeat in her throat, her pulse ringing loud in her ear. She would have liked his nearness, to be less exposed, to be more intimate, instantly and without effort, but she knew this time was different, a tougher goal to reach. She took a steadying breath, then slowly laid back against the pillows.

He stayed in the armchair, unmoving, his breathing soft and slow.

She closed her eyes trying to calm herself, trying to imagine she was alone, trying to find the feeling of wanting him and not being able to have him.

A smile tugged at her lips and she moved suddenly to the nightstand on her side, pulling out a drawer and fishing for what she was looking for.

Once she found the object, she turned back to her previous position and glanced towards him.

Even in the darkness she saw the questioning furrowing of his brows until she flipped the tiny switch and the sound of the low electric humming filled the room.

She thought she heard his breath catch for a moment and there was a faint smile on his face. He relaxed deeper into the armchair, but his hands were grasping the arms.

She slipped the panties off, pulling her nightgown up and closed her eyes again, pulling her legs up slightly and letting them fall to the side.

She guided the vibrator to herself and felt the liquid trickle from within her.

As the vibrator touched her wet sex, she moved it gently around, the vibrations dancing into her core.

She let out a moan and she could hear the wood of the armchair creaking as if he were squeezing the arms.

She moved the toy deeper inside, the vibrations penetrating deeper and moaned again.

She moved the vibrating object slowly out and then plunged it back inside herself again, feeling it become slick from her juices.

She opened her eyes and strained to see him in the darkness. He was still in the chair, one hand covering his mouth as if he were trying his best to restrain himself.

She felt encouraged and she moved suddenly to reposition herself on her hands and knees, facing away from him, the vibrator still inside her.

She let go for a second, her hand switching over to hold it from behind and she restarted her rhythmic movements in earnest, her moans flowing into a continuous hum matching the vibrations.

"Jesus" she heard him whisper and she glanced back seeing him move from the chair swiftly to the bed, his hands discarding his boxers hastily.

She gasped as she felt him take the vibrator from within her and replace it with his rigid, pulsing cock. He pushed in swiftly, to the hilt and she cried out in pleasure.

"Fuck, you _are_ going to be the death of me" he sighed.

She whimpered in response.

"Do you know how fucking hot you are?" he gritted out, slamming back into her then pulling out slowly.

She felt him stall, his whole body trembling lightly and his hands digging into her hips as if he were trying to steady himself.

"Tristan" she moaned, encouraging her with a light sway of her hips, "please stop holding back. I want you."

He cursed, pulling out and slamming back into her, the sensation almost enough to push her over the edge. She tensed around him, panting hard as she steadied herself.

"You're so tight, you're gonna make me fucking cum" he groaned.

She felt the vibrator start up and touch her clit as he guided it to her front and the sudden stimulation made her unravel instantly.

She felt her orgasm shake her body as she spasmed around him and she felt him resume his thrusts, hard and deep, following with his own release within seconds, a loud curse filling the quiet bedroom.

He collapsed next to her and she turned her face towards him, feeling the pants of air on her face. His forehead rested against hers and she smiled, feeling the content exhaustion in her limbs.

She opened her eyes, seeing his study her with a quiet worry.

"Hey" she said, smiling at him.

"Hey" he replied, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry" he said, and the words were so full of remorse, so heavy, she felt a pang in her chest.

"Shh" she hushed him and he closed his eyes, his features smoothing out. She traced his eyebrows, traced his nose and lips with her finger, her hand trailing down to his, her fingers running over his wedding ring.

Her heartbeat sped up when she traced it gently with her fingers and she felt his eyes on her once again.

"You're home" she whispered and he smiled, pulling her in for a new kiss.

And just like that, they were as in sync as ever.

When he left, a week later, late in the afternoon, he kissed her goodbye against the wall of the foyer with an intensity that made her toes curl.

"Can't wait to be back" he whispered "buy some batteries."

She flushed a bright red as he smirked, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud.


	25. Promised me everything

Author's note: Thank you all for coming to read the updates! I'm luring over Rogan fans, woohoo!

* * *

She found herself camping in Virginia in the spring when Tristan's crew seemed to have some unofficial break. The group was large, with Spinner now the only member stubbornly clinging to his single status and Stella's and Donna's kids rounding out the team. They were renting a cabin with several rooms and a large kitchen where they had big cook outs and they went for hikes during the day, the budding trees and blooming fields providing beautiful scenery.

Rory said yes to the trip without much pondering when Stella begged them to come, but now that she was there, more sociable than she remembered being for years, she had to remind herself that it was only for a couple of days.

The kids were loud and a handful, but the girls were empathetic as always and she loved to see Tristan's crew interact, giving her a sense of trust and peace.

She watched the guys move, always as if in formation, with kids and wives kept within a protective circle, communicating sometimes with just looks and short sentences. She wondered if it was a conscious thing or if it had just become second nature to them.

They obeyed practiced laws, she was sure of that. Whenever they were hiking and there was a fork in the road, they would wait, turning slightly towards Tristan. He always looked at Billy, who was obviously one with a tracker's mind. He would point out the direction and Tristan would nod, but none of the other guys would take the path before Tristan actually said it out loud. Tristan would regard the children and subtly ask parents if they needed a break in the hike, although Rory wasn't sure some of them didn't fare better than her when it came to fitness.

It was subtle, all these interactions, but she picked up on all of them as she spent the day observing the crew of quiet professionals. She thought of Tristan's worry about being the right kind of leader and she was reassured, even more so now, that he was kind and observant. There was an immense amount of trust and respect directed towards him and it made her see him in almost a different light, the dynamic giving her an idea of what it was like for him to work, when the surroundings weren't so serene and peaceful. She wondered how long this dynamic, this trust took to build, how the process unfolded and she felt almost guilty knowing he was working on this when he had first gone back to active duty. Back then she was still shocked and angry that he had made the decision, so he didn't have the chance to share any of this burden with her, but she knew it must have had been a strenuous and difficult couple of months for him. She thought about how that burden must have multiplied when he first got deployed and they had not been in touch.

All these things zigzagged in her mind, her guilt and admiration ebbing and flowing and she often found herself watching him, watching his movements, watching his demeanor. She marveled at what he had become, despite the obstacles, despite her unknowing hindrance; a natural leader, calm, quiet, reassuring.

The day's hike was rougher than she expected and she was thankful Tristan was the one carrying everything they might have needed. He gave her water every half an hour or so, even if she didn't ask for it. The shoes she wore were starting to bother her within a couple of hours and she was thankful when Tristan gave the order to take a break.

She sat on a rock and cracked her ankles, hearing her joints pop.

He walked up to her, kneeling down in front of her and she watched as he took each of her legs into his hands, untying and retying her shoelaces.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she watched with a bemused expression.

"You're already limping" he said. "Proper support is crucial."

She smirked, but didn't protest, feeling the shoes settle more firmly around her feet as he retied them and she had to admit, it already felt better.

She watched as the muscles in his arms moved, exposed in the short sleeve shirt he wore. She noticed that he didn't mind his scars or tattoos showing when he was with his crew.

He let her foot drop back onto the ground and moved to the other one, the way he lifted her leg making her thoughts turn to other memories.

He looked up at her as if sensing her drifting thoughts and she felt her face blush.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice a notch deeper.

She nodded, not trusting her own voice.

* * *

She came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, just as he entered the room. The walls were paper thin and she could distinctly make out the children from the next room, shouting.

"Fire's been extinguished?" she asked and he nodded. They'd had a camp fire, with the kids making s'mores and the guys stayed behind to cover the fire, while the girls escorted the kids into their respective rooms.

She moved towards the closet as he caught her hand, pulling her close. She gasped at the sudden motion, then smiled as he dipped his mouth to kiss hers, slowly backing her up against the wall. His hands were snaking under her towel and she sighed, trying to block out the sound of Stella's kids squealing in the next room.

"I don't know if these cabins provide much privacy" she said arching an eyebrow.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you spent the day giving me sex eyes" he murmured, his nose buried in her hair.

"Sex eyes?" she asked with a small chuckle.

"Yeah. What the fuck were you thinking about? Do you know how hard it is to do a 6 hour hike with a raging hard on?" he went on, making her laugh out loud.

"I… I like how you are with them…" she said as an explanation and he pulled back to look at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked, studying her face.

She took a breath, thinking about her answer.

"They look up to you. Respect you. Rely on you. The way you are with them, it's… it's impressive. And I know that you had to build all this while things weren't… ideal with us."

He sighed as if understanding her weariness and smiled reassuringly.

"It worked out okay, I think" he murmured.

"It worked out more than okay. You are an incredible leader" she whispered, blushing slightly. "I thought a lot about that today while I watched you with them."

He squinted, studying her face.

"I'm not sure I like the fact that that's what's giving you sex eyes" he joked and she rolled her eyes.

"I feel like you are just fishing for compliments here" she remarked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Sometimes, it's nice to hear" he shrugged.

She inhaled deeply, gathering her courage.

"I like the way you command their respect. You are quiet, you don't talk much with them either, but they still listen to you, are tuned to you. It shows how much faith they have in you. It shows how smart and calm you must be when you are at work. They trust your judgement regarding everything, so it must mean they trust you and your decisions when you are working" she whispered, her hand caressing his arms.

"You find that hot?" he said, his smirk showing.

She shrugged.

"I find you hot. It just made me feel… I don't know. I like your dedication" she said, her hair falling before her eyes.

He nodded, his eyes unreadable, then seamlessly dropped to his knees.

"If you like dedication, I've got something you'll definitely enjoy…" he murmured, his hands going under her towel as she gasped. "You're gonna have to try to be quiet though. I don't need them snickering about how hard I make you come."

She let out a chuckle, her eyes closing as she felt him lift the bottom of her towel.

"Mary. Fucking hell" he breathed out as his fingers traced the line where her arousal was trickling down the inside of her leg. He looked back up at her and she swallowed, seeing his eyes dilate to the point where she could hardly make out the blue.

"You're weren't lying, were you?" he said, his breath making her gasp as it reached her sex.

"No" she whispered, her head dropping back against the wall as she closed her eyes again.

She felt his tongue dart out to touch her clit, his two fingers following the damp trail up to her center and slipping inside.

She let out a loud moan and he withdrew his tongue instantly, stopping the movement of his fingers.

The voices in the next room went quiet for a second and she heard him hush her quietly. She tried to calm her breathing, biting her lips to obey his order.

She felt him restart his ministrations and she kept biting her lip, trying to muffle the strangled moans. She lifted her leg over his shoulder, giving himself more access and her hands went to his hair, her fingers grasping to pull him closer as she felt him chuckle against her.

She was close to coming within minutes and her moans were getting louder as she was losing her control.

He chuckled again as he looked up at her, rising from his knees.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to change tactics here" he huskily said, undoing his pants and pushing his briefs down, before lifting her off her feet and wrapping her legs around his waist. "You're gonna blow our cover."

His hand went up to her mouth to seal it, her eyes going wide as they met his, and her next moan was muffled as he slid inside her, hard and throbbing. She felt her whole body shaken by the sensation, her hands going to grasp his arm against her face.

He seemed to fare better with keeping his moans to a minimum, thrusting into her steadily with only his eyes showing how unraveled he was. He thrust into her with an increasing pace and she was coming apart within seconds, her whole body shaking as he held her.

"Shit, Rory" he whispered. "You'll be the death of me."

She let her head fall back as she forced her eyes open to watch his mouth open in a silent cry, his face contorting in pleasure as he froze, his release pulsing up into her. She felt him flood her, his warm seed trickling down her leg mixed with her own arousal and the sensation made her fall apart again, her hands squeezing his hand over her own mouth to keep her from moaning out loud.

* * *

She watched him through the kitchen window of the cabin, the guys standing in a circle by the barbecue set up outside. To anyone watching they might have seemed like a group of friends, but having studied them for the past several days, she saw all the signs. Their bodies were ripped, some of them had that nervous restlessness she saw sometimes on Tristan when it had been a while that he'd been called away. They moved in a strange unison, somehow always falling into ranks even if they were just carrying a table or separating rowdy children. She watched him, clearly the leader of the pack, the others yielding to him every time he moved or spoke.

He caught her watching him, giving her a warm smile. It made her blush as she studied him with a delicious fatigue in her body, having not slept much the night prior.

He seemed to be insatiable once he found out that she found his job, his authority attractive, finding her with an undeniable want even after she was ready to fall asleep.

It reminded her of the time they first started seeing each other, when being intimate was almost unavoidable, but nowadays, it was even more overwhelming for her.

He seemed to know her every move, read every sign of her body, having the ability to drive her to the edge and leave her begging with minimal effort. He knew when she needed it fast and raw without fanfare or interaction and when she craved him talking hungrily into her ear, with phrases that drove her wild with want.

"Jesus, Rory, get a room" she heard Stella say and she blushed, seeing the girls giggle.

"You're staring at him like a cat in heat" her friend went on and she tried to concentrate on the salad she was supposed to be mixing.

"I don't blame you though," Stella stood next to her, watching Tristan through the kitchen window, "back when we weren't surrounded by obnoxious toddlers, me and Jake, we used to go at each other like rabbits too."

"Hence the obnoxious toddlers" Gina laughed, dumping some tomatoes into Rory's bowl as she joined the other two girls by the window.

"God, they do look hotter when they're all together like that, don't they?" Gina marveled.

Rory chuckled, returning her attention to the salad.

"Well, they're certainly in a great mood," Stella sighed, "that helps. Last time they came back, I could hardly get him to leave the garage. He spent a whole week fixing up that old beat up car of his."

Rory glanced at Stella.

"I thought nothing would be as bad as when they were grilled about all those civilian casualties. He would be in a foul mood, but at least he talked to me. Last time, he didn't even do that."

"Yeah, what was that whole mission about?" Gina asked.

"I think it was that hostage massacre" Donna said and all the women looked at her.

"Billy told you?" Stella asked.

"No. But I remember seeing it on the news after they came back. Billy left the room whenever there'd be anything on TV about it. I think it was a family with children."

They all fell silent.

"Yeah, I call it the CNN method" Stella said, trying to lighten the mood, "I just put it on and study his face for reactions."

"That works?" Rory asked with amusement in her voice.

"It did until he realized I was doing it on purpose" Stella chuckled, giving her a wink.

"Do they ever talk about it without you prompting?" Rory asked and the women looked at each other wearily.

"It depends" Gina shrugged. "I'm not sure it's better if they talk about it."

"I think they're taught not to. To compartmentalize" Vicki chimed in.

"It's for our own good" Gina replied.

"Is it though? Who the hell can pretend they don't spend most of their time killing people on the other side of the world? At least there could be some honesty about it" Donna said and all the women looked at her, the air suddenly sucked out of the room. Rory watched as she steadied her hand on her growing belly, her face in a frown. Stella and Gina glanced at each other and Donna sighed, helping herself up from the chair she was sitting on.

She excused herself, going to the bathroom.

"I think they're having problems" Gina whispered.

"Well, they're going to have to sort it out soon. She's about to pop" Stella said.

"It's hard to sort stuff out if they're away 40 weeks out of the year and you can't plan ahead a month" Gina retorted.

"Hey" Stella scolded.

"I know, I know. It's what they chose. And he's what I chose" she sighed and Rory returned to watching the men outside, thinking about the weary chatter of their spouses.

She finished the salad and slipped from the kitchen silently, treading through the other rooms until she found Donna.

She watched as she stood by a window, turning back to look at her as she heard her approaching steps.

Rory came to stand next to her, joining her in watching Stella's kids play with the big white dog that Gina and her husband owned.

"You okay?" Rory asked, without looking at her.

"Yeah," she replied, forced lightness in her voice, "just tired. Can't get comfortable in any position anymore."

Rory nodded.

"When are you due?" she asked.

"37 days, but who's counting?" she chuckled and Rory smiled sympathetically.

"Is Billy going to stay home for a while?" she asked.

"I guess he plans to. I don't know if it's the right decision. He gets restless quickly" Donna replied, her voice quiet.

"He'll be too busy to be restless" Rory remarked, trying to keep the mood light.

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel like it's worse if he's home. That couple of days he gets back? It's the worst of times and the best of times, you know?" Donna said, staring into the distance through the window.

She knew, but the morbid curiosity swelled inside her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, making her voice unassuming.

"It's always a surprise, the mood, you know? And how he acts. But then there is always that relief too. He's safe and back and he missed me. But it lasts until he starts anticipating the next call and I start feeling the dread. It's just too much, all those feelings. When he's gone, at least there is only hope I have to feel. Not guilt and shame and anger and fear all jumbled into a mix."

Rory scrunched her forehead, Donna's words sounding way too logical for her to disregard.

"I guess that's what you get for marrying a ghost. He drifts in and out, always haunts you, but it will never be real" Donna said, her voice quiet as the two of them continued to stare out the window.

* * *

She sat in the library, her laptop showing several windows of opened articles.

She didn't notice him coming up behind her.

"What are you working on?" she heard him ask.

She looked at him startled, his eyes reading through the article she was browsing.

She watched him as his face became confused.

"Why are you reading this?" he asked, looking at her.

She took a breath, trying to find the best answer. She'd been preoccupied with the subject ever since their camping trip.

"Research, I guess" she shrugged.

"Research about divorce rates in military marriages? Should I be worried?" he asked, turning to face her as he adjusted her chair.

"No," she chuckled nervously, "it's not... it's just something that I was left wondering after talking with the WAGS" she brushed it off.

"Who wants to get a divorce?" he asked, his tone serious.

"No one. It's not anyone. It isn't anything they talked about. I am just curious" she brushed him off.

It didn't seem to convince him as he sat on the table, studying her.

"Rory. Talk to me please" he insisted.

"Did you know that army marriages are more likely to end in divorce? And that Delta has the highest divorce rate?" she asked.

He studied her with a squint she could only classify as irritated.

"And you want to write about this?" he asked, shaking his head, not understanding.

She shrugged again, not really knowing the answer herself.

She saw his eyes flash in anger and he shook his head turning to walk towards the living room.

"Tristan, don't be ridiculous. I'm just reading. It's harmless" she groaned, getting up to follow him.

"Until you start writing about it" he shot back, turning to face her again.

"Why does it bother you if I write about it?" she asked.

"Because you can't, Rory, I have an alias for a reason" he replied, his tone frustrated.

"I'm not going to implicate you" she shook her head.

"You know that they read your stuff?" he sighed.

"Who? Your superiors?" she asked, confused.

"The WAGS" he sighed. "They're not stupid, Rory."

"No one said anyone is stupid. Give me a little credit here, I am not gossiping, okay?"

"What do you think they're going to think your motivation was to write this?" he asked and she sighed, seeing the rationale of his argument.

"Way to be subtle" he murmured, sitting down on the couch and turning on the TV. The coldness of the remark pierced her, urging her not to drop the argument.

"I can always use a pen name, if this unnerves you" she pointed out, folding her arms in front of her chest.

"How about you don't rock the boat, Rory?" he said, his tone catching her off guard. He glanced at her, his eyes ice cold.

"Rock the boat?" she scoffed.

"Yeah. It's not exactly a harmless op-ed. It's hitting a little too close to home" he retorted.

"It's a hot topic, Tristan" she sighed, not liking the argument but feeling unable to halt it.

"Right. But also, you're married to someone with that job, so how impartial can you be?" he pointed out, his tone cynical.

"I can be impartial" she said, defensively.

"I feel like you're trying to get answers to questions you want to be asking me" he said, his tone closed off. He was staring at the TV, without looking at her.

"Like what?" she asked, incredulous.

"I don't know, you tell me" he shot back, glancing at her.

"Why does this irk you?" she asked, frustrated.

There was a beat of silence as he stared at the TV again, perhaps gathering his thoughts.

"Rory, are you unhappy with our lives?" he asked, his voice once again soft and it made her falter, her hands lowering to her sides.

"I... no... I'm... It's just... I feel like I have changed so much since I found you. I feel like it was a seamless healing, you know? Of something I didn't even realize that was broken. Of something I thought I didn't want fixed" she said, her emotions getting a hold of her.

He nodded, swallowing hard as his eyes fixed on her.

"And I feel like you love me. I feel like I make you happy" she continued.

His face softened and it urged her to move and close the distance between them.

She moved to sit in front of him on the carpet, her arms snaking into his and he leaned forward, their faces only inches away from each other.

"That's true, Rory" he said, his tone reassuring.

"But I don't feel like it has changed anything for you. You still have that urge, to go and risk it all even though I know you are second guessing a lot of your own reasoning" she said, her throat closing in.

"Rory. That's not fair" he said, closing his eyes as he dropped his head slightly. "I'm not second guessing anything. I'm doing a job and trying to adjust to the role I've taken on. I share stuff with you, but not so you can use it as leverage" he said and the accusation made her frown.

"I just don't want you to be doing something out of conviction, out of a desire to stick to something you once thought was right" she tried again, her tone slightly desperate.

"Rory, I still think it's right" he said, his face solemn.

"But doing what you do isn't the only way to do what's right. You don't have to do this forever" she whispered, her words pleading.

He looked at her, thoughtfully, his eyes pale and sad.

"This is not a sickness in me. This is not something that's broken. This is me. This is how I am. You can't fix it" he said, his face set.

"Shouldn't I be able to urge you to change?" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

A pained look flashed on his face, his resolve faltering. He took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to brush hair back from her face.

"Rory. When you met me, I was a shadow. I had no one. Nothing else in my life. And now… I am married… I clean the gutters and worry about your insurance, I tell you about the stuff weighing me down… I… feel like leaving you rips my heart in half every time… How do you not see that?" he asked, his eyes heartbreakingly blue.

She swallowed, her tears escaping from her eyes as she watched him.

"You have changed me. You have given me life. And I plan to keep you happy, even though I know this job makes that harder" he said, tucking her hair behind her ear again.

"Don't you feel that?" he asked, his palm staying to caress her face.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"I do" she said, crying softly as he pulled her up into his lap.

"Please don't research that bullshit" he pleaded with her.

"Okay" she murmured.

* * *

She didn't write about it.

But the conversation was replaying in a loop in her mind even after he'd gone back to work. She recalled his words about his commitment, his devotion to this job, even as she knew he wasn't free from being plagued by worry. She tried to understand his drive, tried to find the analogue in her own life and she realized she wasn't the one to preach about letting relationships take the back burner in order to accommodate careers.

She revisited her own convictions, her own commitment regarding her job.

She remembered being wide eyed and energized, choosing to work even if circumstances weren't ideal, because she felt a drive, a force, a motivation. That devotion seemed to have changed over the years.

Her job was something that saved her life in a way, giving her a way to immerse herself in something productive when everything else felt unbearable in her life. When she had lost her mother, it became a tool, an excuse to justify her way of life and more recently she used it as a distraction from worrying.

She thought back to the time when her job wasn't an excuse, a distraction, but rather an unfaltering, certain devotion. Thinking about it now, she realized that she missed that sense of accomplishment, that pride.

She thought about her recent work, her recent topics, knowing that she had been influenced by a lot of factors when it came to picking new projects. She realized that she'd been limiting a lot of her topics in the last year or so, trying to accommodate Tristan's schedule. She checked her records and realized she'd been away half as much as the year prior. Most of her stories were focusing on the States, some even local and the Post actually offered to take her onto their staff. She had found herself contemplating the offer for minutes before the thought of staying in one place, of living in a house, of having friends and building a life as solid as concrete gave her a proper panic attack.

She tried to recall when the last time was that she felt that overwhelming conviction to accomplish something rather than the anxiety laced pain urging her to move, making her heart race, her breathing fast and shallow, her fingers shaking lightly as numbness creeped into them.

She opened a folder on her computer, with old stories abandoned and she realized a slew of them were discarded because they would need longer planning, or a more extensive trip.

She opened her browser, searching for her lost topics and the hours flew by. As she kept her mind occupied, her body encountered a long forgotten, but familiar feeling: excitement. She wondered if this was what Tristan felt every time he got summoned for a new mission.

She spent hours immersed in her old research. One of the files had her mind whirling, the passion in her suddenly reignited.

She picked up the phone and called Jimmy.

"Hey, what do your next couple of weeks look like?"

* * *

She was sitting in the open plateau of the truck, the heavy bumps in the road knocking the wind out of her every now and then.

It felt good to be working, her whole body buzzing with an excitement she hadn't felt for a while. She loved being back out there, following leads, taking chances, not knowing how things are going to turn out but not really worrying. Which is how she found herself driving through a deserted jungle road in a remote location, Jimmy sitting next to her. The villagers that they'd met at the bar were surprisingly cooperative after a couple of rounds of rum and she was certain that seeing the vast poppy fields herself would be a great part of the piece she had been working on.

She thought about the possible flow of the article, the angles, but she found herself distracted time and time again. She had emailed him but didn't wait for a response, knowing full well he'd be displeased with her trip. Her cell reception had been spotty ever since she got off the plane in Mexico City, so she didn't know what his exact reaction had been. She found herself drifting off, her mind returning to the living room conversation with Tristan.

She wondered about how that conversation must have felt like to him. If it was hurtful towards him. She thought about him, the way he worked on the house, not giving himself any rest whenever he came back before finding a fence to paint, a tree to wrangle, something to fix. She wondered if all that was truly a sign of change for him like he had described.

The truck stopped abruptly and she felt herself propelled towards the back. She felt a jolting blow to her forehead and for a couple of seconds her whole body felt heavy, the sounds around her - shouting, yelling and what seemed like a car backfiring- reaching her in a muted jumble.

She felt Jimmy shake her, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. She looked up to see flashlights blinding her, before everything went black.


	26. Thick and thin

Author's note: Wow, you girls like a cliffhanger, dontcha? ;) Thank you for all your reviews, especially those of you letting me know you've been reading along all this time! I'm so glad if it hooks you, because these two have certainly hooked me! I should sooooo be spending my time on other things rather than obsess about them ;)

* * *

She woke to water dripping in an insistent matter, each and every metallic sound making the pounding in her head worse. She tried to lift her head, but she abandoned the task groaning, her mouth feeling dry and foul, like after a long night of sleep.

She opened her eyes again, this time careful not to move, taking in her surroundings. She was lying on the floor, the wetness of it seeping into the clothes that were uncomfortably sticking to her body. Everything seemed to hurt, but most notably her head, and she palmed the top of it with shaky fingers. When she looked at the fingers, they were red with blood.

She looked around, blinking hard to try to get her double vision into one single clearer picture. She gasped as she saw Jimmy, his unmoving body lying several feet away from her. She urged her body to move, but the effort made her sight go black and she had to spend several seconds steadying her spinning head to be able to try again. The crawl to him seemed like an eternity and by the time she got to him, her breathing was labored and the ache in her head intensified to an unbearable level. Her fingers reached out searching and she relaxed on the ground as she felt the faint, but definitely present pulse under her fingers.

She turned to her back, trying to suck in air into her lungs and relaxed her body, the pulsing pain inside her head overwhelming. She tried to collect her thoughts, that seemed to be a jumbled mess, but clarity seemed to be just out of reach. Her mind was a muddle of growing anxiety and confusion.

She focused on the ceiling above her, watermarks crowding the dark space, when suddenly there was a small cracking noise and then something bouncing on the floor next to her. She looked to her left, seeing smoke rise from the strange object and soon there was a crashing noise, louder this time, and flashing lines of bright neon green dancing in the building smoke as shouting filled the room.

She was coughing, her eyes watering as she felt someone move over her in a flash. When she strained her eyes, through the smoke, she saw a dark figure, crouching above her, gun held to his shielded face as she heard a mechanical voice, as if over a radio "Secondary target secured... Affirmative, she's alive", before everything went black around her.

* * *

When she opened her eyes next, there was light everywhere. Her head still hurt, but instead of the sharp, throbbing pain, it was more dull, much more bearable. Her mouth was still dry and still foul, but her limbs felt less weak.

She blinked, squinting, slowly adjusting her sight. She saw Tristan sitting by the side of the bed, his face overwhelmed as a flash of relief crossed it, seeing her meet his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it as her own. Her throat hurt too.

"How do you feel?" he asked her, his voice gentle, but his face terse.

"Sore. What...? Where's Jimmy?" she looked around, remembering her friend on the ground of the dark cell, a sense of urgency suddenly flooding her.

"He's got a broken arm and a concussion, but he's fine. What the hell were you thinking, Rory?" he asked, before restraining himself.

She looked at him, as if suddenly reoriented, the memories slowly falling into place.

"How are you here?" she asked, the only information that made no sense to her, confusion reigning.

"I flew" he replied wryly and she rolled her eyes, the attempt instantly reminding her of the headache she felt.

"No. I mean, what happened?" she asked, the effort tiring her as she let her head fall back against the pillow.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice angry and she focused on him, his quiet anger making her feel unease. He took a breath, his pale blue eyes shining with restrained emotion.

"Rory, you tried to infiltrate the drug cartel of El Chapo. You got uncovered and captured. A Delta crew rescued you" he said through gritted teeth.

She inhaled sharply. The words made sense, but also not. It's true that they were tracking a story about a secret elaborate drug operation, but she didn't quite know what she had stumbled upon.

"Yours?" she asked, her chest constricting with guilt.

He looked at her confused.

"My crew?" he asked, his eyes still glaring with anger and she was reminded of the last person she saw before she had passed out, in full tactical gear, speaking over a radio feed.

"Are you kidding? They hardly gave me permission to fucking fly in, let alone give me reigns. Do you know how fucking scared I was for you?" he said, keeping his voice low.

She swallowed, the anxiety inside her chest growing. It made sense, he was elsewhere, probably working on a mission of his own. She looked at him, studying the anger evident on his face and she suddenly felt an immense amount of guilt flood her.

"I'm sorry... This was not supposed to happen...How did you... how did you even find out?" she asked, the effort still overwhelming her.

"This works both ways Rory" he said, his finger tapping his wedding ring, "and also, your phone is tracked constantly."

The words, although not a complete shock to her, still felt like a slap in the face. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, both of them doing their best to convey their aggravation towards the other. She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily.

"How long was I out?" she finally asked.

"Two days" he said, and when she opened her eyes, she found him still focused on her, his expression not lightening.

"Stop looking at me like that" she frowned.

"Like what?" he asked, face stern.

"Like you're going to kill me" she shot back, groaning as the ache in her head intensified.

"I'm trying really hard not to" he said.

* * *

She was in the hospital for another two days before they cleared her to leave. He didn't leave her side and she was sure she saw armed guards by her door. When they finally released her, a black SUV took them to the airport. There was no passport check, no lines and she found herself in the inside of an army cargo plane with seats on the side. Tristan secured the complicated seat belt and she felt like she was supported as if in a cocoon.

He barely talked to her and she longed for any conformation that he wasn't as angry with her as she thought he was.

"Are you going to be in trouble?" she asked.

He looked at her, face unaffected.

"I'm not the one in trouble, Rory" he said, although his face was as weary as if he'd said yes.

She swallowed hard as she wondered where they were heading.

When they landed in DC, she wasn't even surprised as the black SUV waited for them right on the tarmac. She sat in silence, a sinking feeling taking over her as she realized where they were heading. When they got to the Pentagon, they were lead through long corridors until finally a door opened. She glanced back, seeing Tristan fall back in the hallway.

"I'll be right here when you're done" he said, his face still tense.

She nodded, following the officer into the room with a table with chairs around them.

Another door opened and two people walked in, someone that looked like a high ranking military officer, a general, she concluded, with the nameplate reading Grayson. The other was dressed in civilian clothes and he leaned against the wall housing the two way mirror.

"Mrs. DuGray, we have some questions..." Grayson started as he took the seat across from her.

"I use my maiden name" she said, her voice small.

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking at her and concentrating hard.

"My name is Lorelai Leigh Gilmore, I use my maiden name" she said a bit louder.

She saw the confusion on the general's face turn to a quiet disdain and she sucked in a breath, bracing herself for the conversation.

"Right. Miss Gilmore, could you explain the series of events leading to your being captured by the drug cartel of El Chapo?" he went on, his tone slightly cynical.

She sighed again and started to talk, explaining the way she researched the story, talking vaguely about her sources, then describing her intention of interviewing the village that she and Jimmy were heading to on the truck.

The general grilled her about sources, which she of course would not give up.

She already felt exhausted, the dull ache in her head intensifying as she looked around in vain for something to drink. The two man stared at her unbothered and she decided it was best not to ask for anything.

"Miss Gilmore, were you also doing an assignment in Pakistan last year?" the general suddenly asked, taking her off guard.

She furrowed her brows, trying to recall the exact memory.

"Yeah, it was a story about refugee camps. It came out in the Times" she shrugged.

"Did the Times commission that story?" he asked, looking at his notes.

"No, I work freelance, most of my stories are not commissioned" she explained, shrugging again, feeling slightly annoyed.

"And later last year were you also in Bhutan?" he went on.

"Yes, that was..." she furrowed her brows trying to concentrate through the haze that was still clouding her head.

"Also your own idea, I assume?" he finished for her.

"Yes" she replied, not understanding where he was heading with his line of questioning.

"And these assignments, these story ideas, they just find you? No outside influence?" he went on.

She stareed at him astonished, an uneasy feeling finding her.

"I read stuff, I hear stuff. I find topics that interest me, that I would like to read about" she said defensively.

The two men stared at her, a couple of seconds passing in tense silence.

"Miss Gilmore, have you ever received any classified information from your husband?" the general asked and it made her inhale sharply.

"What? No, of course not. He tells me nothing, most of the time I don't even know where he is going" she shook her head.

"And do you have access to his electronic devices, like his phone?" he continued and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

"No... this is ridiculous" she protested.

"Did you tell your husband where you were going?" he said, cutting her off.

"Yes, I sent him an email" she replied, her eyes downcast, not wanting to see their reaction to that particular answer.

"Do you usually discuss when you are going on an assignment?" he asked.

"Yes, this came as a spur of the moment" she explained, trying to brush off the feeling of guilt.

"And you maintain this was not commissioned by anyone?" came his next question.

"What exactly are you implying? That somebody is using me to influence Tristan?" she exclaimed, feeling both sets of eyes on her.

There was another couple of seconds of silence and she felt weary under their scrutiny. She was reminded of Tristan's calm demeanor, of ho he stayed calm even if they were arguing and she tried to channel that self control, pulling herself up in her seat to straighten her back.

"Miss Gilmore, are you aware that your husband is the leader of a special forces squadron used specifically in high risk situations and that his missions are all top secret?" Grayson said, his every word biting.

"Yes, I've noticed" she rolled her eyes.

"Miss Gilmore, this is not a joke" the military officer replied and she swallowed hard. "As a significant other of a Delta operator, you are a potential target, a liability. He can be influenced or threatened through you" he said, his words heavy.

She felt a chill letting those words sink in. She thought about the surveillance, from literally the moment they started their relationship, suddenly seeing it in a different light. She felt the feeling of guilt return and she took a deep breath.

"I understand that, it was unfortunate that all this happened, but I really..." she started, her voice pleading.

"Are you trying to get him to quit?" the man asked her and she looked at him, bewildered.

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen it before, Miss Gilmore. Young wife gets tired of waiting for the husband, acts out a couple of times, convinces the man he needs to be back home to keep the peace, so to speak" he explained, gesturing vaguely as the hidden accusation rolled off his tongue.

"Wow, I did not realize it was still 1960 in the US Army" Rory shot back.

"Some things don't change" Grayson looked at her, with a piercing gaze.

"Yeah, but some things do. Like the fact that unfortunately us women folk have gotten some crazy ideas in our heads, like I don't know, that we can have jobs? Careers? A free will?" she spat.

"Miss Gilmore, are you aware your husband threatened to abandon an ongoing mission in order to get to you?" the smooth faced civilian said, speaking for the first time.

Rory jolted, looking at the man casually leaning against the two way mirror. His words echoed in her mind, knocking the wind out of her. She stared at him, a million thoughts racing in her mind. A phrase Tristan once said echoed in her head: _If anyone can distract me it's you, Rory_.

"I... no..." she shook her head, her voice small.

"Now, me personally?" he said, smiling as he pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the table, leaning in, his face close to Rory's. "I don't give a shit if a nosy reporter who fancies herself Ammanpour gets shot in the head somewhere in the jungle" he said, his words seething even as he smiled.

"Do you know what I do give a shit about?" he went on as Rory watched him hypnotized. "If one of our top fucking Delta operators loses it in a middle of a mission that has been planned for fucking months" he spat, his smile disappearing.

"You might ask why we're here in the first place. Why you aren't dead and your husband not awaiting a court martial?" he asked, his face back into the fake smile he used before.

"You see, your husband? He's as good as it gets. He has 15 years of combat experience. He's been scoring close to a 100% on any practical training we've ever thrown at him. He has gone through stuff that would make others useless shells, but he does not break. He does not despair. His mind? Was fucking made for this. He's a fucking gem. He's a gem we've spent a lot of time and money on. He's a gem we didn't give up on, even when he had to be pieced together from a bloody fucking pulp. And he served every penny ever spent on him" the smooth faced man continued.

"Now, we are willing to let go of the fact that you are single handedly responsible for the first US Army involvement in a South American drug dispute in the history of... well time, and we are willing to turn a blind eye to the fact that your husband went batshit crazy, but we strongly suggest that you reconsider your method of income ma'am. If you wish to stay married to your husband" he finished, his eyes boring into hers.

"You don't have the power to tell someone they can't be married anymore" she whispered, the chill on the back of her spine returning.

"No, we don't" the man said, smiling again as he stood up straight, looking down on her. "We also don't have power to stop our servicemen from obsessing about the safety of their loved ones while they are trying to make decisions that affect not only their lives, but those entrusted with them and the country they are working for" he said smoothly and the words left an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Miss Gilmore. There is a reason military spouses lead lives like they do. It's not because their life is secondary to the servicemen. It's not because they're not smart or capable. It's not because we think it's 1960. It's because they chose to do a job and what's more, they committed to a job. If you are married to a serviceman, you are serving too. You are serving him and you are serving your country and you have a responsibility to do that to the best of your ability" he said and Rory dropped her gaze under his piercing one.

"Now your husband? We're willing to do a lot for him. He was made for this. You give him a mission, that mission is as good as done. In a couple of years, he's going to be the fucking head of fucking Special Forces. Calling the shots and using his experience to do even more he is doing now, without having to stand in the middle of a fucking war zone. You know what's the only thing that can stop him from achieving that? You know the only thing that is going to be able to mess up his mind and make him make a fucking mistake where mistakes cost lives, including possibly his own?" he said, making her look up to lock eyes with him again.

"You are" he pointed at her.

"We are not going to tell anyone who they can be married to. But we've seen men make mistakes at this job and those men? Some of their limbs are still not recovered from that godforsaken peninsula, ma'am" he pointed to some unknown location in the distance as a bewildered smile crossed his features.

"So, I suggest you reconsider your stance on your rights and responsibilities. It's not his job to hold you up. It's your fucking job to hold him up" he finished his speech, the two men looking at her with stern expressions.

The truth was, he had her at hello. She had no reasoning, no fight, just a lot of shame and worry. She glanced towards the door, as if she could see through it, see Tristan and even further, see into his soul.

"We are done here, I think?" the general asked and the smooth faced man nodded.

* * *

She felt disoriented for days, the house feeling too quiet and crowded at the same time, with him always around but never truly talking to her.

When she got released from the Pentagon, humiliated, embarrassed and tired, he kissed the top of her head and drove her home, but he had hardly touched her since.

He cooked her meals and encouraged her to stay in bed, letting her take long naps that she seemed to need because of the strange exhaustion she still felt. It was a normal occurrence, the doctors had warned her and she should give it time, so she didn't really worry, the headaches she experienced becoming more rare and less intense anyway.

At night she'd try to stay awake, waiting for him to join her in bed, but she could tell he was stalling, hearing him work out in the garden, or down in the kitchen, somehow always waiting to join her in bed only after she was asleep.

She longed for forgiveness, longed to be close to him, longed to be reassured that their bond was strong, but anytime she brought the trip up, he brushed her off, telling her to rest.

"So, how long is this going to last?" she asked as she approached him in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch, legs propped up, reading a book.

"What?" he asked, glancing up from his book.

"Your little celibacy vow" she sighed.

He closed the book he was reading, taking an annoyed breath as he repositioned his legs on the floor.

"And by celibacy, you mean..." he asked, his tone cynical.

"You haven't touched me. Haven't even looked at me" she pointed out.

"...sex. Actual sex. Wow, okay" he scoffed as he dropped the book on the coffee table with an audible thud. "You had a concussion, Rory. And I can't say I'm turned on. I'm enraged. I am worried sick. But definitely not turned on" he said, his words making her roll her eyes.

"That's not what I meant" she said, annoyed.

"I know what you mean, Rory. You default to what works between us, what has always worked between us" he said and she sighed, feeling the accusation sink in. She crossed her arms, steadying herself as she shifted the weight to one foot.

"Do you want a divorce?" she asked him, making her voice strong despite the feeling of insecurity eating her up inside.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion as he stood up from the couch to walk up to her.

"Do you want to divorce me?" she repeated, making her words slow and clear.

"Of course not, Rory. I made a vow to you. I wasn't sure that included rescuing you from fucking El Chapo, but sure, fine, whatever. It said 'sickness and health' and all that shit and I don't break my fucking vows" he said, almost yelling at her.

She reached out to him, her fingers brushing his arm and it made him calm instantly, his eyes boring into hers. He sighed, his fingers absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, the first intimate gesture in days.

"You're not well enough to talk about this" he said, his voice soft.

"I'm well enough" she insisted.

He sighed, defeated.

"I don't know what to do, Rory. Tell me what to do" he said, his eyes showing how lost he felt. "I know how much I'm asking of you" he said dropping his gaze.

"You never asked me to do this" she shook her head, feeling her throat constrict.

"I asked you to do this the first time I showed up at your doorstep" he said, looking up into her eyes.

She scoffed, a weary smile playing on her lips. The infamous 'debate'. The reason he was on the fence about ever seeking her out.

She felt like she was failing a test, like he was right to be debating all those years ago.

"Tristan," she said, moving closer to him and reaching out to snake her arms around him, "I know you were scared. And I am so sorry I caused so much trouble. I promise, I won't ever do anything like that again" she said, her voice pleading.

"Like what?" he asked, his face in a frown. His tone made her falter, her arms dropping from around him as she felt the iciness of the words.

He looked at her, waiting for an answer and she felt like it was a carefully set trap, every fiber of her being screaming at her to not walk into it.

"Rory, if you're not running around South America scavenging drug lords, you're traveling to third world countries without any security or clear-cut plan..." he said, pointing randomly as his eyes darted around.

She took a step back, her eyes widening.

"Hold on a second, you are making it seem like I am a fucking daredevil. Most of those stories are totally harmless and safe" she interjected.

"Rory, nothing is harmless and safe out there! You book a fucking flight and land in the middle of nowhere, looking like you stepped out of a fucking fairy tale. The world is ugly, okay? Nothing is harmless and safe, you don't know about half the things out there" he said, his words stern.

"So, you don't want me going anywhere, but I shouldn't bat an eye when you go off to do god knows what in countries I haven't even heard of?" she shot back.

"How is randomly devised travels on the same page as taking part in highly organized military missions after years and years of training?" he replied, his voice frustrated.

She sighed, sensing his reasoning was more rational, while she was guided by emotions, still jumbled up in her mind.

"It was not... I planned this, okay? Just like I plan every story. We had connections and a plan" she argued.

"It was reckless, Rory" he shot back.

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She couldn't argue. When she really looked into herself, her line of thought leading her to call Jimmy and book that flight, she really couldn't deny it was.

"Fine. So, it was. I can't fucking write about the state cheese fair, Tristan" she said defensively.

"Why not?" he asked, incredulous.

"Because it doesn't take my mind off of my fucked up life. It doesn't take my mind off of my mom and it doesn't take my mind off of you killing yourself" she yelled.

He looked at her bewildered, the silence of the house reverberating with her exclamation.

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling exposed and guilty.

She closed her eyes, knowing how she must have sounded. The girl who married the ghost, crying about the fact that her life felt haunted.

"Rory" he called out her name, his voice soft.

"46% Tristan. That's your chance of getting hurt every fucking year" she said, her voice small and frustrated.

"Rory, that's not... That's a stupid statistic. It includes me spraying my ankle at a drill" he shook his head, his words still careful, as if not to spook her.

"It doesn't make a difference Tristan. It's 46 fucking percent. Every day I don't hear from you, every time I come back and you're not home yet, that's what I think about" she said, feeling tears well up in her eyes.

"Rory, that's not fair" he shook his head slowly.

"It's been four years. You know what that means? That means you're down to 9%" she went on.

"What?" he frowned, not following her line of thought.

"0.54 on the fourth. That's 9% that you still don't get hurt" she said and she realized she probably seemed hysterical, quoting the anxious calculations she performed one night when she was especially worried and easily influenced by the article she had just read.

"So, what? Are you racing to get hurt before me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I... I don't know. I didn't think I was" she said, her shoulders sagging.

He stepped closer to her, his arms reaching out to brush hers.

"Rory. I know it's unfair to have you sit here and accept I'm gone most of the time. You know it has been eating away at me since the first day I saw you again. And I know it seems selfish to say this. But this is my job. And I've made a commitment to it because I feel like I was meant to do it. I'm not going to be the 46% because I was born to do this and I trained to do this and when I'm there, I'm there a 100%" he said his voice back to calm, reassuring.

"And you can't be a 100% if you are there worrying about where I am" she said, her voice small.

He sighed. If she was being honest, she'd thought about that before. His constant tracking of her, literally and figuratively, was proof of how much he worried for her. And she suddenly felt selfish for traveling to keep herself from being worried about him and making him be worried for her instead.

"Is that why you like me on the landline? Because you know I'm home and not away?" she asked, the thought suddenly lodging in her brain.

"I'm the calmest if you're here" he confirmed.

She sighed.

"I understand what you do, you understand what I do. We don't expect each other to give anything up, but I do expect you not to be reckless" he said, reasoning with her.

"Are you not reckless?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Never, Rory. I'm there doing a job that has to be done and I know I'm the best man for it. If it's not me, it's someone else who is more likely to get hurt" he explained.

She nodded. It was hard to argue with his reasoning. His reasoning was concrete walls, steel structures, protective but unyielding and insurmountable for her flailing emotions.

"Okay" she conceded, her head hanging as she moved closer into his chest.

"Okay?" he asked, lifting her face gently, looking at her intently as he held her with the other arm.

She nodded.

"Is this settled then?" she asked and saw a flash of surprise on his face, a mix of relief and unconvinced skepticism. He squinted, trying to decipher her meaning.

"Yes, but you're still recovering from a concussion" he pointed out, his words careful.

"I'm done recovering. I've missed you" she said, their eyes meeting. He sighed, before he pulled her into his hold, his arms going around her waist as he lifted her gently. She wrapped herself around him, her body finally feeling relieved after days of guilt and shame.

"I love you. I'm sorry" she whispered, clinging to his body with all her might.

"I love you so much" he replied, inhaling her smell as his muscles tend to hold her close.

He had her right there, against the sofa, his touch eternally soft even as she felt the restrained need inside him. She pleaded with him, urged him and he relented, panting as he drove into her.

"Please don't do that to me again" he whispered into her ear as she cried out in pleasure and she promised not to, her breath faltering as her words broke from her chest.

He groaned as he released into her, his body shaking and she was still clutching him, whispering "I promise" over and over again as he came down.

* * *

She got an offer from Georgetown University.

She thought the timing suspicious, her thoughts about her encounter in the Pentagon still fresh in her mind, but it didn't change her mind about it.

She said yes before even telling Tristan about it. He was away on a drill and she wondered if that was also not coincidental.

She shook her head, trying to keep herself from immersing in full blown conspiracy theories.

The job, however it came to her, was something of a dream.

When she went to visit campus, she was instantly swept up in the atmosphere, her memories of Yale, a time she still felt about like one does of a nostalgically good dream, reignited in her mind.

She was given a task of holding a class on unconventional journalism in the 21st century and she chuckled at the title, noting the Army had a sense of humor. If in case it was the army behind the fortunate offer. The dean of education swore it was her infamous stint as a rescued journalist during the raid, her resulting article, although she tried to downplay her role in the incident, causing quite a splash she had been happy to avoid during her last couple of years.

She was happy to accept the job and take an unofficial break from worrying about what she should write about. She worked for days to come up with the syllabus and schedule for the course, thinking up assignments and working on lists of required readings.

By the time Tristan was home, she was ecstatic, her body vibrating with a nervous excitement as she told him the news.

She saw his face tense, his eyes filling with worry, his demeanor only calming slowly as he listened to her describe the premise of the new job. It kept him in a contemplative mood and she could tell he was mulling over the whole deal even hours later as they were sitting at the table over dinner.

"You're going to be a professor?" he asked reverently, a small smile playing on his lips.

She smiled at him, happy to see acceptance on his face.

"Looks like it" she said scooping food onto his plate.

"You're way too hot to be a professor" he remarked.

"Oh please" she laughed.

"I'm gonna have to beat them boys away with a stick" he said, reaching out to caress her face.

"You might be exaggerating here" she arched an eyebrow.

"Just when I finally oust all your suitors" he continued playing.

"Okay, Odysseus" she rolled her eyes.

"You sure, you want this?" he asked, his face turning serious. She could see anguish on his face, worry and an obvious guilt and she smiled, doing her best to try to relieve him.

"It sounds exciting. And it's close by. I'd be close to a landline at all times" she said, looking up at him and giving him a knowing smile.

"Rory, I know they gave you a hard time in there, but it was more to scare you" he said, sighing.

"I know" she nodded.

"And I don't want you to give up anything for me. You've never asked me to give up anything for you" he said and she took a deep breath, knowing not only that he was right, but that that was her burden now, her task and responsibility. _Holding him up_.

She nodded again.

"I think this will be fun. And if not, I can always go back to igniting international military incidents" she pointed out.

"Oh yeah, you're a natural at that" he played along.

* * *

Turns out once she was on the podium, she never looked back.

She never talked about journalism before. She always just did it. So, to speak about it, to portray to someone who was just starting out how it felt to wield the power of words, of truth, felt reinvigorating and surprisingly addictive. She dreamed about giving lectures, waking up with a jolt of adrenaline and rushing to her computer to write down a particular phrase or thought. She immersed herself in work, loving when the students engaged, when they asked and argued with her.

He'd sneak into her lectures sometimes, quietly, hoping she wouldn't notice, but she always did, whenever she turned around to spot him in the second to last row, his eyes intent on her as she continued her lecture. He'd wait patiently after class for most her students to clear the room, smiling his own private smile when a guy would hang back to ask her extra questions.

Once she started putting away her stuff, he'd descend the stairs, walking up to her to gently draw her into an embrace and a kiss. She smiled _her_ private smile when she saw from the corner of her eyes, the girls still in the classroom gape at them and elbow each other whispering.

The only hard part was getting up in the morning. Through years of being a sloth, she lost the ability to be able to wake up to an alarm clock and hit the ground running and she had to take up a habit of cold showers to jolt herself into alertness.

She'd frown at him, always sitting behind the kitchen isle and ready by the time she came downstairs, already showered after his morning jog.

"Good morning professor Gilmore" he said cheerfully and she winced at the level of his voice.

"How are you this awake every morning?" she murmured, her eyes still half sealed shut, her voice groggy.

He smiled.

"I love you most in the mornings" he chuckled.

"Shut up" she said as she absent mindedly took the cup from his hand and took a swig from it.

When she lowered it, her baffled eyes met his horrified ones.

She swallowed, tasting the liquid she had abstained from for more than 8 years, the taste rushing her. It was as though the caffeine already entered her bloodstream, her heart racing and the surge of adrenaline rising like a wave from the back of her stomach.

He looked at her, unblinking, his expression weary as he braced himself for her reaction.

She breathed, the air coming in easy, deep breaths even as she felt the panic on her face.

She kept her focus on his eyes, pale blue and more concrete than anything she'd ever depended on.

His hand reached out, taking the cup from her hand and pushing it aside.

"You're okay" he murmured, not taking her eyes off of her.

She nodded as he repeated the expression, standing up to pull her in for a kiss, leaning over the isle.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the slide of his hand up her arm, the feel of his lips brushing softly against hers, the smell and taste of his tongue, meeting against hers. Coffee on coffee.


	27. Can't do the talk

Author's note: Thank you so much for all your feedback, it is very much appreciated! Please keep them coming.

I love all your reactions regarding the last chapter, even if you are frustrated with certain characters (khm -Tristan). You all didn't forget we're still in Angst City, right?

kimarmot, are you kidding? In the words of Noah Calhoun - it wasn't over, it still isn't over!

* * *

She heard the phone ring and she picked it up absent minded.

"Jake got shot" she heard Stella's voice and she froze instantly, her inside turning to stone as she felt dread flood her.

"What?" she asked, her heart beating in her chest.

"I got a call from the base, he's stable supposedly, it was his arm, but he lost some blood" came her friend's rambling voice over the line, usually bubbly, but now shaking with intense dread.

"Jesus" she whispered, her arm reaching out to steady herself against the wall.

"Have you heard from Tristan?" she heard her question and she closed her eyes, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No, I haven't heard from him in a couple of days" she said and she wrecked her mind about their last call, trying to figure out what he had said, when it had been.

"Figures. Squadrons go on lockdown if there is an injury, they don't want anyone talking to anyone back home before they can officially deliver the bad news" she heard Stella say.

She knew this. Not from Tristan, but from her extensive search online and the tales from the wives. They had all lived through this before, except for her: something happened to a member of the squadron and suddenly no one was calling back home or sending messages. Silence meant somebody was hurt.

"Stella. What... how can I help?" she asked, clutching her phone with both hands.

"I... I don't know, I'm just waiting on an update and I guess go on like everything is fine, god knows I don't wanna scare the kids by being hysterical" she said, releasing a mirthless chuckle.

She swallowed the bile in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Everything is going to be okay" she said and wondered if it was as unconvincing as it sounded to her own ears.

"Argh, I really could use the company" her friend said, her voice trying to mask the obvious anxiety.

"Alright, I'll be over in twenty minutes, just stay put" she said, looking around for her car keys.

She hung up the phone and stared through the garden window.

Her limbs felt like stone, as if she were frozen to the ground, her fingers tingling with numbness and she had to close her eyes and count loudly in order to gather her thoughts.

There was no call for her. She was his wife and there was no call for her.

"Squadrons go on lockdown" she murmured to herself, repeating the phrase like a mantra until she could feel her fingers again.

She stood still, concentrating, registering her limbs as they returned to her control and she grabbed her car keys, hurrying towards the front door.

* * *

She sat by the window, in the chair she liked to read in, glancing outside every couple of seconds. She finally saw a car pull up, not pulling into the driveway, just stopping by the curb and she got up, her whole body shaking.

He'd called him the day prior, speaking calmly, slowly, telling her he'd be back. He had refused her insistence to pick him up, telling her he'd have to sort out stuff first. She hadn't argued with him, matching his solemn tone.

She opened the door, standing on the front porch as he made his way through the front yard.

"Hey" she called out and he smiled wearily, coming up the stairs.

"Hey" he said, kissing her on the temple without stopping.

"You okay?" she said, turning after him as he walked through the front door.

"I'm fine" he said, his tone indifferent.

"I was worried. I found out from Stella" she tried, her voice gentle as if he were an animal ready to be spooked.

"We were on lockdown Rory" he sighed, dropping his bag on the floor of the foyer, "but I'm fine."

She felt the unfamiliar wave of resentment and she had to bite back the cynicism ready to escape her mouth.

"And Jake?" she asked, willing herself to ignore his attitude, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"He's good, they got the bullet out, no permanent damage. He'll take a couple of months off" he said, turning to look at her.

She saw the forced calm on his face and it made her frustrated, anger bubbling inside her chest.

"Where is he now?" she asked, her voice small.

"Over at Walter Reed. But they're probably going to release him in a couple of days" he replied quietly. He was still fronting, but his tone slipped, almost making him seem human.

"What happened?" she asked, taking a step towards him but then stopping herself.

He looked at her, as if contemplating whether to answer or not.

"Insurgents" he said finally.

She shivered. She feared that word.

"I'm gonna go take a shower" he said, kissing her on the head and ignoring her worried expression.

She took deep calming breaths, feeling the anger, worry and hurt swirl within herself. She thought of Stella, of how brave, but shaken she looked and she suddenly felt frustrated, for herself, for her friend, for all of them left back home.

She willed herself to try to stay calm. She ordered food and then went upstairs, laying out clothes for him from the closet. She walked back into the room just as he was exiting the bathroom and she froze as she saw him, towel wrapped around his waist.

She could see a large, angry purple bruise covering the right side of his chest, reaching from his armpit to his stomach.

"Oh my god" she exclaimed and he looked at her horrified face and then down to the bruise.

She stood, still as night, her hands in front of her mouth.

"Mary," he spoke to her, softly as though she were a wild horse, "it's a bruise, nothing's broken."

He sat down on the bed, reaching a hand out to draw her closer.

She moved slowly, carefully.

Her hand reached out to touch the angry bruise and she saw him set his jaw, keeping himself from flinching.

She swallowed, her heart racing and dread gripping her.

He sat her down on his lap.

"Hey, it's nothing" he said, his voice soft.

"Don't say it's nothing. Jake got shot" she protested.

"Yeah, it happens" he replied.

She shot him an angry glance and he cocked his head apologetically.

It wasn't nearly enough to keep her in his lap and she rose, opting to stalk the length of the room back and forth as he watched her with concerned eyes.

"Mary," he started, "I know this was scary, but…"

"How would you know?" she snapped, stopping her pacing.

He looked slightly surprised, his features quickly smoothing into his usual indifferent façade.

"I didn't even know what a lockdown meant" she said with indignation and he sighed, nodding.

"Stella didn't tell you?" he asked.

"It's not her job to tell me, Tristan!" she yelled at him and he nodded again.

"I'm sorry, you're right" he said, his hands spreading out in a gesture of peace and she tried to calm herself, feeling her breathing fast and shallow.

"If one of us gets hurt, there is a lockdown. It's so whichever family needs to be notified, they can get the official version, instead of hearsay from people who heard it from someone else" he explained and she rolled her eyes.

"I know all this, Tristan, I've been hanging out with the WAGS for over a year" she sighed exasperated.

"You just told me…"

"What I mean is, why don't I get this info from you?" she cut him off and he sighed again, defeated.

He dropped his gaze to the ground.

"You're right" he murmured. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know everything!" she shook her head. "Everything, I should."

He nodded.

"Okay" he said, his tone soft as he reached out his hand towards her. She took it, although she felt he was placating her, knowing she was upset. She felt him draw her back into his hold and she placed her hand on his shoulders.

"What happens if you get shot?" she asked, her voice shaking with restrained emotion and his eyes focused on hers, his brows furrowing slightly.

"I'm not getting shot" he said slowly.

She closed her eyes, exasperated.

"Yeah, okay, but what happens if you do?" she said, stressing the words.

She opened her eyes, seeing his fixed on hers, serious.

"Then you get a call, like Stella did and you'll keep it together, like Stella did" he said slowly, his eyes focused on hers.

She flexed her jaw, his commentary not quite enough to sooth her mind.

"What happened to the magnolia tree in the back?" he asked and she knew he was changing the subject to distract her.

"Let me put some ointment on your bruise" she said, ignoring his attempt to abandon the topic.

"I don't need an ointment, it's a bruise, it will heal" he said, his voice dismissive.

"It will heal faster if you let me put an ointment on it" she countered, her voice strong as they locked eyes. His looked tired, weary.

"Fine" he said with a small sigh.

He sat, while she got the ointment from the bathroom.

She took a handful and massaged it gently into his skin. She watched his face for signs that it hurt him, but all she could see was his jaw set more tightly, his eyes studying her face as she worked.

"Why do you have this anyway?" he asked, taking the canister from her hand and studying it.

"Have you met me? I bump my leg somewhere weekly" she sighed.

He chuckled and the sound suddenly felt foreign to her. She realized she hadn't even let herself be happy for him to be back, hadn't even let the joy of his presence register.

She let her fingers feel the warmth of his skin, still damp from his shower.

"The magnolia tree?" he asked again and she rolled her eyes at his insistence.

"There was a storm last week, it tore off a branch. Do you think it won't survive?" she asked, her tone slightly annoyed.

"I'll try to even out the wound. We'll see how it heals" he said calmly as she finished her task and he relaxed.

"How do you know this stuff?" she said, sitting down next to him on the bed.

"My grandfather used to love to garden," he replied, his voice unaffected, "plus I google shit in my spare time."

She smiled, the first time since he'd been back.

It made him smile in return and he leaned in, silently asking for permission to kiss her. She indulged him and his lips moved tentatively against hers.

When he broke off, he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said, her voice cautious.

"Since when do you ask for permission?" he snickered.

"Am I your power of attorney?" she asked and watched him as his eyes flashed to hers in shock. He pulled away, studying her face as she tried to keep her cool demeanor, mirroring his.

"It came up when I was doing the registrations and I didn't know how that worked now that we're... you know" she trailed of pointing from him to herself.

He didn't reply but looked away taking a deep breath. He didn't answer and she wasn't sure why.

"Is that automatic once you get married?" she went on, trying to get him to react.

"No" he replied, not looking at her.

"No meaning, I should be declared?" she asked, feeling more uncertain.

"You don't have to worry about this Rory, I know this was all scary, but everything's fine, nothing changed." he said, finally looking at her.

"What do you mean _I don't have to worry_?" she asked, squinting.

"When I got relisted, I asked Charlotte and she agreed, so she is my power of attorney" he told her, his eyes downcast.

"What?" she asked, disbelieving.

"I didn't want you to have to think about this" he sighed, turning towards her.

"You mean if you are lying in a fucking coma somewhere, it's Charlotte who gets to pull the plug?" she asked, incredulous.

"I... never thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess" he deadpanned.

"Tristan, this is why we got married" she shoved him lightly, her anxiety shining through.

"I was hoping a little part of it was us loving each other, but okay" he tried to lighten the mood, but it made her even more tense.

"Stop making this a joke" she shot at him.

"I'm not, Rory, I saw what burying your mother did to you, I saw what your grandparents' death did to you. I'm not gonna ask you to do that for me" he said, his eyes determined and she swallowed hard, trying to steady her feelings.

"I wish you would stop making decisions for me" she stood up, turning away to walk outside. She felt his fingers quickly grasp her to pull her back.

"Hey…" he said, his tone soft, "I'm not making decisions for you, I'm just trying to make your life easier…"

"Tristan, this isn't making anything easier. I fell in love with you. This is your life. And I married you. I should know what's going on" she whispered.

There was a silence as his face contorted slowly, her words obviously affecting him.

"I feel like I'm taking so much from you" he furrowed his brows, his face full of emotion he seemed to be fighting, his gaze dropping to the floor. His honesty, his sign of weakness was a rarity and she bit her lip, trying her best to acknowledge it but not pressure him.

"You've only ever given me, Tristan. But you have to stop assuming you know what's best for me" she said, her hands lifting his head to look at her.

"You're right. I'm sorry" he said.

"You've been saying that a lot today" she sighed.

He nodded.

"To sum up: you wanna be the one to pull my plug, right?" he asked, his face serious and she rolled her eyes.

"Shut up" she told him as he pulled her in close, kissing her.

* * *

She was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner and watched Tristan out back surveying the damaged magnolia tree. The branch, one of the biggest ones, broke at its stem and she was worried it would destroy the whole tree.

She saw the headlights reflect from the front window of the living room and she turned back to see who it was.

She saw Stella march determinedly up the path to the house and she wiped her hand in the dishcloth, meeting her friend just as she entered the front door.

"Stella, is everything alright?" she asked, worried.

"Where is your husband, Gilmore?" the blonde marched passed her, without stopping.

"Out back" she stammered, not understanding what was going on.

She saw Stella march through the house, heading out to the back porch and down the stairs to the garden. She followed her, confusion on her face.

"Major DuGray" she heard her call out and Tristan turned with a surprised face.

"Stella" he called out her name, brows furrowed.

The blonde marched up to him with determined steps and threw himself into Tristan's arms.

Rory watched in shock from the porch as Tristan looked at her, his face changing from confusion to understanding. His arms went hesitantly around Stella as she hugged him with a fierce force.

"Thank you. You are a good man" she said.

"Alright now" Tristan murmured.

She let go of him, giving him another look as he nodded humbly, and turned back around marching back towards the porch.

"What's going on?" Rory asked, dumbfounded.

"Your husband is a good man, Rory" Stella told her as she passed her by and then added, her voice louder. "Talk to your wife, major, communication is key in military marriages."

She passed Rory by without stopping as she looked at Tristan in confusion, hearing the front door open and close shortly.

She walked down the porch stairs towards Tristan.

"What was that about?" she asked and Tristan rolled his eyes, sighing.

"I guess that was her thanking me for saving her husband" he said, his voice quiet.

"What?" she asked, her heartbeat faltering.

He looked at her and then stared off into the distance, as if trying to find Stella, his face conflicted as he no doubt debated on following her direction. He cleared his voice, dropping his gaze to the ground beneath their feet.

"I feel like I'm just heading for another _'You're right, I'm sorry'_ " he sighed.

"Tristan" she said, exasperated. "What happened?"

"We were doing a hostage rescue. We were evacuating, he was the fallback and he got shot. They were gaining on him, so I went back and covered him. The others managed to take out the unfriendlies. I was able to carry him to the meeting point and we got lifted out. It's... " he trailed off, his expression becoming apologetic, his eyes downcast as he studied his gardening gloves.

She let the words reverberate in her chest, the pictures in her mind horrifying as she tried to imagine the people she knew only through their normal life. She noted the obvious guilt in his expression and she wondered if he blamed himself, felt responsible.

He frowned, looking at her.

"That's… " she started, not finding the right words to describe the feeling she got. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, not understanding. "This is exactly what I was talking about, what Stella is saying" she said, but he broke her off.

"It was reckless" he said and the word felt like lightning inside her chest. She looked up in shock.

"I shouldn't have done it… that's not how we are supposed to perform a rescue…" he shook his head, his eyes trained on hers.

She swallowed, suddenly understanding his reluctance to even tell her about the situation.

"I put myself in danger. It was… dumb" he said with a scoff.

"It was Jake" she whispered, feeling her own turmoil.

"I asked you not to be reckless" he said, his hand reaching out to take hers. She felt him through his gardening gloves, strange but alive and warm.

She felt the weight of that sentence, knowing it was an apology and self-deprecation all together.

"It was Jake" she repeated herself.

"I should have been more level headed" he murmured.

She moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around him. She pulled him in close, trying to mold her body to his, as if their proximity could help to exchange all the things they seemed to have a hard time confessing to each other.

She thought of his words and wondered. All she ever saw him was level headed, yet he seemed to have felt that stability falter. She thought of his reaction to her getting hurt and his reaction to Jake being hurt. It made her feel uneasy, her mind recalling the words spoken to her by the smooth faced man at the Pentagon. It made her cling to him tighter, hoping he felt all she was feeling without having to explain.

* * *

Rory spent her afternoons checking in with Stella after she finished at the university. Even with the cheerful persona, she knew that her friend was under a lot of pressure, Jake now back at home, the kids regarding him with a curious bafflement.

"How is he?" she asked, watching the blonde's reaction wearily.

"Impatient" Stella chuckled. "He is doing physio 6 hours a day, I'm sure that's not ideal" her friend sighed as she prepared dinner at the counter of her kitchen.

"Hm" Rory nodded, recalling the way Tristan used to work out perfecting his stats in order to regain his active status.

"Tristan's been a lot of help" Stella smiled.

Rory knew he'd been over to Stella and Jake's, helping with tasks and doing physio with Jake.

"You're not worried about other things?" she asked, her finger smudging a spot on the counter absent mindedly.

"Like what?" Stella asked, making Rory look up at her.

"I don't know, he got shot… I mean, it's not just the actual physical damage" she shrugged, trying to keep her voice unaffected, but she could sense Stella's studying gaze.

"Yeah, they have him doing extra PTSD evaluations" her friend murmured, her eyes back on the pan she was stirring.

"What are they saying?" Rory asked, a little too eagerly.

"That he's fine. But those things are not exactly hard to trick" Stella shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Rory asked, furrowing her brow.

"These weirdos have been doing PTSD evaluations since they got into the army. They probably know all the questions by heart" she rolled her eyes.

Rory sighed, knowing she was probably right.

"Well, either way, some time off is good for everyone, no?" Rory said, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Yeah, it's good to have him home. The kids are ecstatic" Stella matched her expression and the two of them sighed simultaneously.

* * *

She walked through the door, hearing him on the phone. She put her briefcase on the kitchen isle, greeting him with a silent smile. He acknowledged her with a nod, his face serious as he listened to the phone against his ear.

"I understand… No, it's not ideal… Another 6 to 10 weeks we're guessing" he said.

She watched his jaw set as he took a slow deep breath.

"Replacing him will be difficult as far as group dynamic… He is a shooter, he's a vital component, especially if the mission entails…" he said, trailing off as he listened to the reply on the other end.

He sighed, his hand flexing into fists.

"Yes, sir. I understand. I'll do my best. Thank you."

He hung up and she watched him with an uneasy feeling inside her chest.

"Is everything okay?" she asked and he sighed, his hand going to his eyes as he massaged them.

"Yeah" he replied.

"It didn't sound like it was" she noted, giving him a pointed look.

He stepped closer to her, greeting her with a kiss on the forehead.

"Don't worry about it" he said.

She rolled her eyes at him and he faltered, realizing himself.

He had been better the past couple of days and she could tell it took determination and effort on his part to consciously try to share more information with her.

"Do they want you to replace Jake?" she asked, knowingly.

He sighed, looking at her.

"Yes" he said, "but I told them it would mess up the crew."

"So?" she asked.

"They want us to work without him until he gets better" he said, his face in his usual unreadable expression.

"That's crazy. And a shitload of pressure on him to get back sooner than he is ready" she said, astonished.

"I know" he said, nodding slightly.

"Did you tell them that?" she asked, her eyebrows arching.

"Yes" he replied.

"So why are they making you do this?" she asked, shaking her head, incredulous.

"It's not a good time. There are plans in motion and we were counted on. It's hard to just rearrange complete operations because one team has to go without a guy. They have weighed the pros and cons and decided on this approach" he said, his words almost mechanical.

"Risking the rest of your crew?" she asked pointedly.

"His absence is going to be taken into consideration planning the next missions" came his reply and she wasn't quite sure he wasn't just repeating what he had heard on the phone just a minute ago.

"Tristan" she pleaded.

"Rory, please. It's pointless to argue with me about it" he sighed.

"It's not pointless for you to argue" she shot back.

"I gotta pick my fights" he said, his tone placating, his pale eyes warm as he tried to smile a reassuring smile.

"Why aren't you picking this one?" she asked, her frustration showing.

"Because I'll be able to handle this and it will get us goodwill" he replied, a hand reaching out to caress her arm.

"What do you need goodwill for?" she asked, surprised.

He looked at her with a blank expression, his hand dropping.

"Is this still about El Chapo?" she asked, incredulous.

"No" he shook his head, furrowing his brows but she could see he was avoiding her gaze.

"Are you trying to make amends for things that are my fault?" she asked, fear weighing down on her chest.

"Rory," he said, pulling her closer "first of all, nothing is your fault, everyone's moved on, don't worry about that. Second, this is my job, coming up with solutions under pressure, it's a part of it. We have to show that we are able to do this" he murmured and she felt him sway her gently, her mind inexplicably ready to surrender.

She nodded, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, unconvinced.

* * *

He was back to work a week later as though nothing had happened. He called every day, an unusual pattern, but she sensed his commitment in trying to make her feel more at ease, letting her know as much as he could, even if it was mundane information.

It didn't seem to ease her mind and predictably, her nightmares were back with a vengeance, the clearing in the forest housing various scenes of turmoil that woke her gasping in the night.

Work was something that she could focus on and she still visited Stella daily. Jake was improving slowly and was apparently already restless, going to the base and training insane amounts.

* * *

She faltered in her lecture as her eyes landed on a familiar set of eyes and blonde hair.

She cleared her mouth, looking down at her notes to reorient herself, but it was hard to get back into the flow of things, so she wrapped up the lecture earlier and waited as he made his way down the steps to the podium.

"Logan, long time no see" she greeted him with a tight smile.

"Professor Gilmore, that was quite impressive" came his reply, his eyes sparkling as he smirked at her.

"How did you find out?" she asked, sighing.

"Let's just say that I'm privy to the latest news from Georgetown" he winked.

"How is that?" she said, squinting at him.

"Elisa went here, we're on the alumni board" he murmured and she noted he still couldn't look at her when he said his wife's name.

"Oh" she nodded.

"How is teaching working out for you?" he changed the subject, his smile back.

"I… it's good… I like it" she shrugged, gesturing around herself. "These kids are amazing. I feel like they are lightyears ahead of us."

"Well I'm hearing good things about you too, Ace. Apparently, this course is ranked highest by student feedback" he said and she blushed. "How are you otherwise?"

"I've been good" she nodded.

"I see you got some grill on you. Same guy?" he said, nodding towards the ring on her finger and she brushed her digit over the delicate band instinctively.

"Same guy" she confirmed.

"You happy?" he said, his warm eyes studying hers.

"I think so" she smiled.

"That's good. Happy suits you" he replied.

"I don't know about that" she murmured, dropping her gaze to her notes as she gathered them.

"Ace. I'm happy for you" he stopped her with a hand on hers and she looked up at him.

"Thanks, Logan" she said, smiling.

"So, is he around? Maybe I could take you both out for dinner?" he said, pulling his hand away from hers.

"He's not, actually" she said, her gaze dropping to her briefcase as she stuffed her notes in.

"Oh? Contract work?" Logan asked, his tone slightly cynical.

"Yeah" she said, scratching her forehead.

"No problem, he's a bit of a sulker anyway" he said, giving her one of his signature smiles.

"Well, you're not wrong" she sighed.

An hour later they were sitting in a booth at the pub that reminded her of their old hangout and it was uncanny how the circumstances brought back old memories. It helped that he basically looked younger and fitter than back in the day.

He was talking about his latest venture, an online news streaming service and she nodded absent minded, her mind wandering off.

She liked talking with him, she always had, their rapport always easy, never too deep, but somehow still supportive. She wondered how that had felt like normal to her once and she wondered about how different her life was now, how different her relationship with Tristan was. There seemed to be no easy rapport with him, the silences rarely filled with easy banter and every serious conversation requiring her complete concentration and dedication. He was absent more often than he was present, but somehow, his presence in her life was more concrete, than anything she'd ever felt before. Despite the constant distance, when he was there, his presence was overwhelming, all consuming and able to fill her up with feelings she couldn't quite name. And when he was gone, her life still yielded to him.

"So how do you like the job?" Logan asked, pulling her attention back.

She looked up absent minded, his knowing eyes on her as he smiled, waiting for her response.

"I… actually like it more than I thought I would" she smiled.

"I thought you might" he nodded, his expression matching hers.

She squinted, his words making her curious.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" she asked.

"Ah, Ace, no. I mean they did send out a board query about ideas for potential visiting professor courses, but I doubt I was the only one nominating you, what with your infamous El Chapo connection" he said, the words rolling easily off his tongue.

She nodded, the thought occurring to her that maybe it wasn't the army arranging her future, but rather her ever meddling ex.

"I guess it was just luck then? That they got funding for it?" she asked, wanting to see the clear picture.

"I can't take credit for that" he chuckled. "Apparently it was a government fund to expand the curriculum. It just all fell into place" he smiled.

"Yeah, I guess it did" she sighed, suspicions confirmed. So, the army _and_ a meddling ex.

"Hey, if it helped you find your calling. Did it? Help you find your calling?" he asked, his face curious.

"I guess, yes. I feel…" she shrugged, "at peace. I feel like I'm doing something that makes a difference. It's a commitment, but maybe I was ready for a commitment" she said.

"It sure looks like you were" he said with a bittersweet smile.

* * *

She climbed the porch, her hands full with her purse and her laptop and she froze as she saw the door slightly ajar.

A million scenarios flashed through her mind as she slowly opened the door and stepped inside, listening for any sounds coming from inside the house.

She heard steps approaching and she felt her heart race as her eyes landed on the black boy looking at her from the foyer.

"Matthew" she gasped. "You scared me, what are you doing here?"

She steadied her breathing, her eyes studying Charlotte's son. He looked bigger than the last time she saw him, his lanky frame obviously going through a growth spurt.

"Is Knight… is Tristan home?" the boy asked.

"No.. he's… he's away. Are you okay? Does your mom know you're here?" she asked, still confused about how he had gotten there.

The boy dropped his gaze to the floor.

Rory sighed.

"You hungry?" she asked, relieved to see him look up with a thankful expression.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat" she said, reaching out an arm as she guided him towards the kitchen.

She watched as he wolfed down a whole plate of lasagna she heated in the microwave.

"You want to tell me what you're doing here?" she said, sitting down across from him by the kitchen isle.

"I got into a fight with mom" Matthew murmured in between bites.

"About what?" she prompted.

"I'm failing Algebra" he said, in the nonchalant way that teenagers deliver blows.

"I see. I've never been great with math, so I get that" she said.

"I understand what's going on, I just don't see why it's important" he shrugged.

"What do you mean?" she asked, baffled.

"Mom wants me to go to college, but I think it's pointless" he said, pushing around the remainder of the food on his plate.

"Well, I have to side with her on that one" Rory sighed.

"Dad didn't go. Neither did Tristan" Matthew said, looking up at her and she felt her reasoning leave her.

"Yeah, they were focusing on other things" she squinted.

"Yeah. I feel like I could find what I'm good at and just do that. You know, not waste time with college" the boy said.

Rory sighed.

"Well, college is chance to realize what you're good at" she pointed out, trying to reason.

"So, you're saying rather than sit down and figure out what I want to do, go to college, get a bunch of debt, get wasted at parties and then have the same fucking freakout about what I want to do four years later?" he asked.

Rory gaped at him. He dropped his gaze under her astonished look.

"You might have a point there. But I'm guessing your mom is not happy about that?" she asked, finally regrouping.

"No. I get it. She lost dad. She's alone. She needs me to succeed. But I can't be pleasing her my whole life" he replied.

"Matthew, it's not your job to take care of your mom, that's not why she is doing this" Rory said, scrunching her forehead.

"It is my job. I want to take care of her. I know she works like crazy. I don't want her to worry about tuition. She is already relying on people to help her out" he said and Rory felt the warm feeling towards this quiet boy as her chest expanded.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I know Tristan sends her money every month. I also know she won't touch it, she wants me to use it for college, but I'm not sure it would be enough" he said, once again playing with his fork.

She sighed, the information new, but not surprising. It was very like Tristan to do this. Silently. Peremptorily.

"Matthew, we can figure all that out" she said, trying to sound reassuring.

"I know… It's just… I don't know… I feel like I'm being forced into something I don't want to do. I just wanted to get away for a bit. Maybe talk to Tristan" he said, glancing up at Rory.

She regarded the quiet, solemn boy. She knew Tristan would understand his sentiments, having had similar feelings at this age, although with vastly different circumstances.

"I think that's good. He's a good person to talk to about this. But we can't worry your mom, Matthew. She's probably scared out of her mind" she said.

"I know" he nodded.

"Tell you what, why don't I call her and let her know you're okay and that you are going to stay here for a couple of days? We can go into town and visit some museums if you'd like" she said.

He nodded again.

"Thanks, Rory" he said and the words filled her with a sense of warmth again.

"No problem" she said.

* * *

"Hey" she heard his voice over the phone as she picked it up.

"Hey. You okay?" she asked, relieved to hear him even as she sensed the worry in his tone.

"Yeah, what the heck is going on with Matthew?" he asked and she sighed, shrugging as though he could see her.

"He just showed up here, Charlotte said he ran away" she said, keeping her voice low as she eyed Matthew, watching TV.

"Yeah, she called me" Tristan replied.

"He's fine, just a little lost, I think. He wanted to talk to you" she said and listened to the weary silence on his end.

"Can you put him on?" he finally said.

"Sure" she said calling out to Matthew.

She handed the phone over to him.

"It's Knight" she said, using the name Matthew usually used for Tristan.

The boy's face lit up and he took the phone, walking towards the back door to step outside.

She watched him, pacing the back porch as he talked, his face changing emotions from second to second. She felt her chest ache with the thought of this boy, so desperately clinging to the father figure, who himself had no one like that present in his life. She wondered if this was why Tristan felt a connection to the boy or whether he just felt an obligation, the occurrence not uncommon in his life.

"I'm done, he wants to talk to you" she heard Matthew say as he handed the phone back to her after coming back inside.

She smiled at the boy, who went back to watch TV.

"Hey" she said, waiting to read his mood.

"Hey" he sighed.

"Everything okay?" she asked, trying to keep her voice warm.

"Yeah, I think so. Can you drive him back?" he asked, his voice weary.

"Sure. He's okay to? she asked, glancing over to the boy.

"Yeah. I've made a deal with him" he said, his voice exasperated.

"Okay" she agreed.

"Rory?" she heard him ask.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you" he said.

The words, so rarely spoken by him towards her but rather the other way around, filled her with a warm feeling of being content.

"Of course" she said, smiling to make her words more reassuring. "You okay?" she asked, sensing the heavy silence through the crackling receiver.

There was no answer, but she could picture his face, stern, weary, but stoic as always.

"I feel like I am dropping the ball" he said quietly and she moved towards the kitchen, glancing at Matthew, who was still watching TV in the living room.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"You. Jake. Matthew" he listed, without elaborating and she sighed.

"You're not dropping the ball" she countered.

"I should be there for the people I love" he said, his voice defeated.

"You are there for them" she reassured him.

"It doesn't feel like it" he said. "It feels like I'm juggling too much and I can see I'm not able to do all I should."

She held her breath, letting the words linger. It was rare that he admitted to feelings of inadequacy. Even so, she knew better than to try to use them to prove a point. She knew his feelings, his stoic behavior usually masking remorse.

"Well good thing I got your six" she said.

There was a sudden laugh coming from him, the sound of it full of joy and it made her smile.

"Since when do you talk army?" he asked, his voice deep.

"I've been picking up on it" she smiled.

There was another chuckle from him.

"Tristan. I know how this feels right now, but you are not dropping the ball" she said, whispering the words.

"Okay" he replied, unconvinced.

"Okay" she sighed.

"I gotta go, I'm sorry" he said.

"Alright, I'll let you know when I drop him off" she nodded.

"Thanks. I love you" he said.

"Roger" she chuckled.

"Don't overdo it" he sighed.

She smiled as she heard the line go silent.

She looked at Matthew and thought of all the unnoticeable and heavy burdens her husband was constantly carrying. She felt surprised at how good it felt to be able to help, to take over from him for some of that weight, somehow making her own load lighter.

"Come on, Dodger. Let's get you back home."


	28. Do a love song

Author's note: Thank you for the feedback! Meddling exes rule, lol. You guys wanted Angst City? I got you.

* * *

She realized she'd become a full fledged army wife.

She learned to accept unexpected deployments and missed calls, like they were the most obvious occurrence in the world. She knew acronyms and abbreviations she had no clue about before. She became surprisingly efficient at cleaning clothes equipped with Velcro patches. She forced herself, and Tristan, to have a two hour conversation about living wills, funeral arrangements and military widow benefits and even though she spent the night after in a continuous haze of nightmares, she somehow felt calmer than before.

She hung out with the wives, and not just Stella, who was becoming a girlfriend she only remembered having back in Stars Hollow. When she realized this, it made her feel bittersweet feelings, but no matter how much anxiety she managed to chase herself into, when Stella showed up or called, she could never deny her.

The other girls were growing on her too. Donna was smart and quiet, reserved, but always insightful and she raised two babies with such calm, she thought she was a robot sometimes. Her occasional hints that she too suffered from the same conflicts Rory herself battled, only made her more sympathetic.

Gina was loud and outgoing, loved children and Rory could tell that she was hiding an ever increasing fear about her own lack of kids. Vicki was the newest and initially they regarded her curiously, her volatile and passionate relationship with Vince often leading to tension. She was strong and determined and laugh out loud funny and Stella would tease her endlessly about the way she had Vince wrapped around her finger.

Rory would often find herself watching the girls with quiet amusement as they laughed and teased each other, telling stories and sharing gossip. She enjoyed the camaraderie, missing from her life for so long.

And having girls' nights was the best way to take her mind off of worrying too. They would help each other with everything, from preparing cake for bake sales to making Halloween costumes or painting rooms and fixing appliances. They were her own collection of crazy villagers and she begrudgingly realized the community she had avoided engaging with found her anyways. Engaging meant facing wounds, but even the wounds she thought were unhealable now seemed to have been less open, less sensitive and she found herself laughing wholeheartedly often, without having to count to herself to keep the panic at bay.

They would rally any time a mission was getting itchingly long and especially if the squadron went on lockdown. The occurrences were getting more common, though most lockdowns turned out to be minor injury related. Jake had recovered completely and went back to work – a full two weeks before he was officially scheduled to.

Rory saw Stella drop him off at the base, stoic with a vibrant smile on her face as she waved him off.

When Rory left the base, a little after her, she found Stella's car parked on the side of the road, just outside the entrance. When she pulled over, she saw her friend hunched over the wheel, sobs raking her body. She exited her car and got into Stella's, holding the blonde's hand but not saying anything until her friend calmed down.

She spent a lot of her evenings at one of the girl's places. She would sit there, listening to loud tales and watching children chase each other through living rooms and she wondered how she managed to have all this change in such a short amount of time. Her old wounds, her old troubles, they seemed not forgotten, but something held safely behind bars in her mind's eye, the constant worry for Tristan now the main concern, ebbing and flowing with changing intensity.

She still had her dreams, but they seemed less intense and often she forgot about them by the time her feet hit the floor of the bedroom in the morning, except when the lockdowns happened. Then she knew better than to even attempt sleep, her mind instantly filling with horrid pictures as soon as she closed her eyes.

But all the worry, all the fear seemed to dissipate the minute she heard his voice on the end of the line. She often remembered the first time they talked like this, the awkward, careful dancing around each other's feelings. Now she was more efficient, more practical, knowing sometimes a couple of minutes was all he had.

* * *

"Hey it's me" she heard him say, over the static as she was watching over Stella's kids one afternoon.

"Where are you?" he asked with a chuckle, obviously hearing the children squeal.

"At Stella's, you're missing quite a sprinkler party" she said, smiling as she watched the kids.

"Yeah? You only think that because you don't see what Jake and Billy are up to" he retorted.

"God, do I want to know?" she wondered out loud.

"Probably not" he admitted. "Did you get the car fixed?"

"Yeah, it was the batteries" she nodded "Hey, Peter, simmer down."

"What's happening?" he asked.

"He's just a little too excited" she said, watching Stella's boy run around screaming.

"That always ends in tears" he murmured.

"Ya think?" she chuckled.

She heard a loud roar at the end of the line, like a fighter jet.

"Where are you?" she asked, humoring herself.

"Just down the block" he replied, his tone easy.

"Right, with an F15 flying over you?" she asked cynically.

"It's actually an F22, but hey, that's pretty impressive guess, Mary" he replied and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"I try" she chuckled.

There was another loud scream and Peter's giggle as the two kids directed the spray towards Rory, making her squeal.

"Jesus, what is happening there?" came his amused question.

"Sorry, got ambushed here" she chuckled.

The kids raced back towards the garden, zigzagging into the sprinkler's range, while she wiped her face and arm, looking up at the blue sky sprinkled with white clouds.

She wondered if the sky over his head was just as blue.

"I've been missing you" she said, her tone light.

"Yeah?" he said and she could tell all the questions he was holding back.

"Yeah, I've been using up a lot of batteries" she murmured and smirked as she heard him choke on his breath.

"Jesus" he murmured and she listened to the ensuing silence as she felt her cheeks warm.

* * *

This particular lockdown seemed to be different. It started right before the squadron was scheduled to come home and it had been three days long, without any of the wives hearing anything.

"What do you think is going on?" she asked Stella and she watched as the blonde sighed, defeated.

"I haven't a clue" she replied. "Maybe it's all of them? Like a crash? Or… I don't know, they're captured?" she went on, her eyes petrified.

Rory swallowed, none of the options appealing.

"I tried to call the liaison, I can't even get through" she said and Stella snorted.

"God, it's cute you think that works."

"Well, short of going to the base and going Steel Magnolias on them, I didn't know what else to do" she shot back and watched as Stella's face lit up.

"Let's do that!" she said.

"What?" she asked, exasperated.

"Let's go to the base headquarters, what are they gonna do if we show up there, deny they exist?" Stella asked.

"I… don't know…" Rory said, unsure.

She thought of Tristan, always bearing everything quietly and without any dread. Then she thought of that hospital room in Heidelberg that she saw years ago, with the dying soldier and his family surrounding him. She felt the tightness in her chest.

"Alright, let's go" she said, grabbing her keys.

* * *

She stood in the spacious hall listening to Stella reason with an officer for the last 20 minutes without much luck. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, Rory was sure. Seeing the slowly building anxiety in Stella was certainly making him sympathetic to them, but it was clear he had no info and they had no clearance.

Stella looked the picture of defeat when she turned around and Rory sighed, thinking her friend might start crying.

Just then she recognized someone walking through the hall.

"Hold on" she said as she slid passed Stella and the baffled officer.

"Hey. I want to get some information" she said to the man who froze when he heard her voice.

"Ma'am, you can't just go passed the checkpoint" the officer protested but froze as he saw the man Rory addressed slowly turn around.

"It's alright, private" said the man Rory remembered from the Pentagon, after her disastrous El Chapo story. He was as calm and collected as she remembered him, but still dressed smartly, without a uniform or badge for that matter, and Rory wondered, for not the first time, what made this seemingly civilian person an authority.

"Miss Gilmore. It's good to see you. How is Georgetown treating you?" the smooth faced man asked her with an easy smile as the officer turned back to focus his attention on Stella who was now watching the scene unfold.

Rory took a breath, knowing that this man's smile meant nothing more than a warning for her to know her place, but the fear inside her chest made her determined and her mind sharp.

"It's treating me fine. I've been awarded best new course by the student council. Also, I'm contributing to the Post regularly, nothing too political, you know, mostly just opinion pieces. I've enrolled in DEER, I'm volunteering for Hope for the Warriors and I'm paying a shitload of taxes" she said, her voice strong and determined.

"Good to hear" the man said, seemingly unaffected, his eyes set on Rory.

"Does any of that buy me any information on my husband?" she said, steeling herself for the answer.

There was silence as she straightened herself, feeling the man's searching gaze on her.

"Last I heard he's doing a fine job" he finally said, evasive as can be.

"He was supposed to be back this weekend. It's Wednesday, they're on lockdown, but none of the wives got a call" Rory cut him off, her voice rising.

"Is that so?" the man said, glancing around as Rory's little speech was getting quite the audience.

"I know, because I am also number two on the call chain" Rory said, ready to go on with her reasoning, but the man cut her off.

"Miss Gilmore, you'll get information, if information is available."

"Where are they?" she asked, not backing down.

There was another heavy silence as she saw the man set his jaw.

"Safe" he said, his tone warning, but that one word made Rory's determination even stronger.

"Look here" she said, stepping closer as she lowered her voice. "I've got 4 army spouses texting me nonstop. Now, I am very good at wrangling them, in fact, since your little speech at the Pentagon, I've made it my priority to be humble and thankful for all they do. You know? Keep it all together at home and not freak out, say, in the middle of a supermarket or a children's show and tell. We do that. Me and them, intermittently, we support each other and give each other strength when one of us is about to lose it because we don't know what the fuck is going on with our husbands. Now, I think that's crucial, that all of the wives of your fucking top Delta team members keep it the fuck together and not go making any scenes anywhere. Don't you think that's crucial?" she said, her voice rising steadily as the man glanced around, his face annoyed.

Rory held her breath, waiting as the man considered his options silently.

"They are fine. They are in isolation" he finally said, his voice quiet.

"How long?" Rory asked, pushing for as much info as she could get.

"Seven days" he replied.

"Can we see them?" she asked and she saw the instant flash of warning in the man's eyes.

"Miss Gilmore" he said, his tone seething.

"If they're fine, we can see them, right? Me and miss Maxwell are right here, you can give us clearance and trust me if she's fine, after her husband, who just got back to active service after being shot a couple of months ago, is now unaccounted for… well if she's fine, they're all gonna be fine and smiling" she finished with a plastered on smile.

The man inhaled slowly and she could see the anger boiling in his eyes.

"You are really pushing it, Miss Gilmore" he said.

"I haven't even started yet" she replied, her smile still present, but her tone terse.

They stared at each other for long seconds before the man turned to the officer, who was following the exchange with baited breath.

"Yeah, Miss Gilmore and Mrs. Maxwell have clearance to go see crew 14-7 at isolation dock four. Please escort them. They have ten minutes" he said and turned before Rory could say anything.

* * *

They walked into the building, white walls and glass windows everywhere. A couple of people in scrubs were monitoring a room with all of Tristan's crew inside. Rory counted the men quickly even as Tristan looked at her in shock and the other men got up from beds and chairs.

The officer who was escorting them was talking to one of the personnel in a hushed tone as the two women stood waiting.

"What do you think it is?" Stella asked in a hushed tone as they studied the men behind the glass.

"I'm not sure" Rory said, her eyes going over all the men.

Tristan was at the glass window now, his eyes concerned as he eyed the personnel talking to each other. He glanced back at Rory, obviously confused about how she had gotten there.

"It's Ebola right? It's fucking Ebola" Stella whispered, her voice frantic.

"It's not Ebola" Rory replied with an eyeroll.

"I've been reading about it, Rory, it's Ebola" Stella shot back, still whispering.

"It's not fucking Ebola, Stella. That could be 21 days of isolation. Plus. They are all together. It's nothing contagious" Rory sighed, her eyes squinting as she pondered.

They looked healthy. And calm. Bored, but calm.

"What do you mean?" Stella asked, looking at her.

She tore her face away from the crew, looking at a concerned Stella.

"If it would be something contagious, they would be separated" Rory pointed towards the men.

"So, what is it then?" Stella asked, breath held as she followed Rory's gesture with her eyes.

"Something that might have contaminated them. They're waiting to see if they show any signs." Rory wondered out loud.

She saw Tristan regard her, his eyes trailed to her lips.

"What, like radiation?" Stella asked.

"They're not in steal isolation" she pointed out and Stella sighed exasperated.

"Then what?" she whined.

"I don't know, some biological weapon, I'm guessing. Like a nerve poison" she said as she saw Tristan nod slightly. She sighed. Him and his lip reading skills.

"Great" Stella groaned.

"They look fine. They all look fine" Rory reassured her as the officer approached them.

"You have five minutes. You can use the intercom on the door to the left" he said pointing to the door on the isolation chamber.

"You go first" Rory said, squeezing Stella's hand.

"Alright, here's me putting on a smile" she said as she stepped aside, her fingers raising up to the glass to meet Jake's as he smiled at her.

Rory stood and looked at Tristan, taking a tentative step towards the window.

"You okay?" she mouthed and he nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

He said something, but she couldn't make it out and she shook hear head, mouthing "Slower."

"How did you get in here?" he mouthed slowly and she sighed.

"I have my ways" she shrugged and he laughed, without the sound reaching her. His eyes sparkled and the way he looked at her gave her an electrifying feeling.

She stepped forward, both hands on the glass and he smiled, meeting her hands.

"You look fucking hot" he mouthed and she chuckled as she saw Spinner behind him nod enthusiastically, saying something to obviously voice his agreement.

She saw Tristan toss him some scolding words even as his eyes remained trailed on hers, intent and intense.

She blushed, feeling his eyes on her and took a deep breath, thinking the next four days were going to be long and lonely.

* * *

She heard the door open and her whole body came alive in a second. She rushed out into the foyer and took in his form, clad in cargo pants and a t-shirt, dropping a single bag to the floor.

"I didn't think you'd be let out until tomorrow" she squealed, racing into his arms.

He lifted her, her legs going around his waist and her arms snaking around his head.

"Guess what? No signs of neurological poisoning for 7 days" he chuckled before her mouth covered his.

She felt his strong body beneath her fingers, his one hand supporting her ass and the other moving up her back to snake into her hair.

"You cut your hair" he murmured in between kisses.

"Do you like it?" she sighed into his mouth.

His fingers tread through her hair before fisting and pulling her close again.

"Yes" he hissed as he pulled her more tightly into his body, letting her feel his obvious excitement. It made her remember the way he was looking at her through the isolation window, his gaze hungry and intense.

She felt her breathing become shallow, the need inside her, the weeks of fantasizing about him rushing her instantly.

"Is this a new table?" he asked glancing behind her in the foyer as he carried her without much effort.

"Ahammm" she hummed, her lips kissing his neck.

"How sturdy is it?" he asked, backing her towards it and placing her ass down on top of it.

She giggled "I'm not sure."

"Let's hope" he said and he laid her back on it, letters and keys carelessly spilling to the floor as her hair fanned out around her.

"I missed you" she said as she watched him unbuckle his pants.

"I missed you" he murmured as he freed himself just barely, not bothering to undress, his movements impatient and rushed.

It made her think of their first time together.

She felt him reach under her dress and pull her panties off. His fingers trailed up to her folds, and his two fingers slid into her seamlessly, her center instantly wet.

"Jesus" he hissed "I need you."

She felt him yank her to the edge of the table and he was buried inside of her in one swift movement, the sudden intrusion making her gasp, followed by a moan of pleasure as she clenched around him and he sucked in a breath, his whole body tensing as he stilled.

"Rory," he pleaded, "god damn it."

She felt him try to keep her still as his cock pulsed but she felt halfway to the brink already, her hips bucking against him involuntarily.

"God, just fuck me" she sighed and she heard him groan and curse quietly.

He started moving, his cock deliciously hard as it slid in and out, his one hand bracing her waist and the other one holding the back of her head as he leaned in to kiss her.

She felt herself tense then, her whole body going rigid as her orgasm shot through her. She moaned his name as she spasmed around him and he yelled as he sped up, pounding into her as he came.

She felt him collapse onto her for a second before he lifted her off the table and down to the floor, all the while staying inside her.

She sat in his lap, feeling both their wetness seeping from her and she looked down to see his face, his breathing still heavy with the effort.

"That was unceremonious" he sighed.

"I don't mind" she chuckled.

He opened his eyes, sighing deeply, studying her features.

"You look gorgeous" he said simply.

She felt herself blush even through the heat that radiated from the entire surface of her skin.

"You know, when I call you from there and you mention missing me..." he started to whisper and she furrowed her brow trying to concentrate from the fog still clouding her mind.

"...even if I don't say it, even if I am distant and calm, this is what I picture" he murmured, his pelvis moving in a slight thrust to emphasize his point. It made her realize he was still hard inside her and sent a lazy wave of pleasure through her body making her gasp.

"I imagine you wet and clamping down on me, I imagine you coming in my arms, I imagine you soaking wet as I fuck you deep" he went on, with slow poignant thrusts.

"Oh god" she groaned, closing her eyes as she felt her arousal grow.

"I imagine you from the back on all fours, I imagine you down on your knees, I imagine you spread out in front of me."

She felt her whole body humming now, moving according to his guidance as he thrust up into her in a steady rhythm.

"I imagine you bathing in my cum, I imagine it dripping off of your ass" he whispered into her ear, his words getting more brazen and raw.

She moaned as she listened to his filthy words, his voice so deep it almost cracked.

"I imagine fucking you, shooting my load up into you over and over again until I'm dry."

He laid her back down onto the floor now, kneeling in front of her, her legs lifted up onto his shoulders. He thrust into her and groaned, his words faltering for a second as he listened to her come apart in pleading sobs.

She felt him motionless as she came down from her high, her center clenching wildly around him.

"I might not say it, because if I started telling you that, I would be so far gone I'd get on a fucking plane and come hunt you down" he whispered, his hips starting to move again.

She felt raw and sore around him, her body flowing in a constant state of pleasure.

"But know that I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about this" he said, his thrusts speeding up.

Her legs fell limply off his shoulders and her hands grasped his waist as he plummered into her, his finger finding her swollen clit.

"Shit" she heard him swear as she felt him explode into her, his cock pulsing wildly and she was swept away by another wave of pleasure.

* * *

She couldn't tell how long they had laid there, but when she woke up to him gently lifting her off the floor, her muscles were rigid and sore all over. He lifted her effortlessly and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her head resting on his shoulder. He walked up the stairs as though he didn't even feel her weight and carried her into the bedroom without turning on the light.

She felt him place her on the bed and she sighed, the smooth covers feeling comfortable under her body.

She listened as he went into the bathroom, coming back with a warm washcloth.

She gasped as she felt him clean her up, surprised that even this aroused her. She felt herself sore, but her skin rose in goosebumps and her nipples pebbled into aching peaks.

He watched her every reaction and tossed the washcloth aside.

"Do you know how fucking hot you are?" he asked her as he laid down between her legs.

She moaned instantly as she felt his warm, wet tongue trace her folds and she felt her arousal dripping from inside her despite having been wiped clean moments ago.

"Christ" he swore under his breath before he plunged his tongue deep inside her, tasting her in earnest.

Her fingers wove into his dirty blonde locks and she moaned as his tongue slid out to circle her clit.

"Shit," she bucked into his face, "how do you make me come so fast?"

"It's my special skill" he chuckled as he climbed up her body.

He fucked her again, more lazily now, his hands tracing all over her body as though he were greeting every inch of her thoroughly and then once more later, when it was already the middle of the night, after they whispered reverently for hours.

It was fast that time, but he was more in control than down in the foyer. He was dirty and raw and was telling her things that made her ears burn. He told her where he wanted his cum, he told her he wanted to gag her with his cock, he told her he wanted to fuck her until she screamed.

It was close to dawn when he looked satiated.

"You okay?" he asked her, his fingers tracing her body and it made her smile, remembering his usual routine after sex, still unchanged after all these years.

"That was quite the feat, major" she teased, "you seemed to have had some pent up needs."

"It's been six weeks Rory, I think I had a sex dream about you every night for the past week" he murmured, his eyes closing.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, really" he murmured, pulling her close to nuzzle into her neck.

"You have sex dreams about me?" she giggled.

"Aham" he breathed into her neck.

"That's sweet" she smiled.

"Yeah, Spinner seemed to think so too" he chuckled and she raised an eyebrow in question.

"Apparently, I talk too" he explained.

She giggled and he pulled her close again, his muscles relaxing and his breathing evening out.

She felt the delicious fatigue in her muscles, and she listened to his breathing as it became slow and even, her mind not quite ready to drift into sleep just yet.

"I missed you" she whispered, caressing his hair that seemed to have grown long since she'd last seen him.

"I missed you too" he murmured, surprising her by responding.

She let herself smile and closed her eyes, letting sleep overtake her.


	29. The way it's meant to be

Author's note: Does she ever wear pants?! HA! That's a smart comment, apparently, she does not. But with a husband like that, can you blame her?

Thank you so much for all your responses, especially those of you who have stepped forward to let me know you have been reading for a while now. That is amazing, thank you!

And with that, let's dive head first into Angsty River, running through Angst City.

* * *

It was the best couple of weeks she had since their wedding. Apparently, a nerve agent scare earned the crew quite a few weeks off and she was thankful and did not question whether her little performance at the base might have had anything to do with it. It was summer break at Georgetown and they had nothing else to do than attend a couple of barbecues.

It was easy to forget their lives for a little while, forget that he was devoted to an ideal and a way of life that threatened her very sanity, easy to forget that what she perceived to be sanity, would not necessarily be called just that by any conventional standard.

For those few careless weeks, all that didn't seem to matter. She felt weightless and it made her inexplicably happy just to see him do household chores, fixing a shelf that had come loose, mowing the lawn, tinkering in the shed. She loved to wake up to the sound of the shower running, often finding him there, still slightly flushed from his early morning jog. It was enough to make her want to join him, joyous and relieved, making him forget any other plans he might have had for the morning.

It wasn't the only time she jumped his bones, her libido somehow even more pronounced than usual with their time abundant and her worries far. He laughed wholeheartedly as she sneaked up behind him as he was trimming the hedges back in the garden, her body wired and hot as it slid up against his sweaty one.

"Jesus, you are insatiable, woman" he murmured, turning around to kiss her, but he felt no restrain when laying her down in the grass and fucking her with his hand covering her mouth to keep her from being too loud.

She wanted him all the time, teasing him into laying her down on the work table inside the shed and making her come with his mouth, then making him fuck her as she linked her legs over his shoulders, his cock driving so deep inside her she though she might split.

She was far from being satiated with just one rushed romp in the day and she often laid in his lap reading in the evening, too distracted to finish a page and thinking of ways to break his own concentration.

It was always easy to get him to indulge, the sound of his laughter dying on his lips instantly as her hand undid his fly and grasped his growing need for her.

"Fuck, Mary" he sighed, dropping the book to the side as she once again slid up next to him on the couch late one evening.

He let his head fall back and she chuckled, amused by the moniker that hardly seemed appropriate given the circumstances.

"Why do you still like calling me that?" she whispered as she dragged her lips on the side of his neck.

"It reminds me that it's always been you" he replied, his eyes closed and she stared at his face momentarily, overwhelmed by the emotion flooding her.

She slid to the floor quickly, wetting her lips as she took him into her mouth, smiling as she felt him tense, his hands digging into her hair.

Her hand grasped his base, pulling back as her tongue worked to make him slick all over and he cursed as she sucked him in, deep into her mouth, his tip hitting the back of her throat as she relaxed.

"Fuck, I love your mouth" he sighed, his hips jerking lightly to encourage her movements, his body shivering slightly as she moved in a steady rhythm.

She felt him grow impossibly hard and she relaxed her throat, letting him slide in to the hilt, a guttural moan breaking from his mouth.

She moaned around him, feeling him still as she felt him pulse, his whole body shuddering with his release as she continued to suck, swallowing his release.

* * *

It had been weeks since she'd woken up in the middle of a dream, so when she gasped for air in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, she was disoriented for a full minute, the silence too stark for the ears that were still echoing with the voices of the nightmare.

He wasn't home, away on what she figured was training because he'd sent her a pic from somewhere in Nevada, where Spinner appeared to be frying an egg on the surface of an armored training vehicle.

They were still enjoying the goodwill from his last mission, and he'd planned a trip to go see Charlotte in a couple of weeks which made her think that he knew they weren't leaving for anything in the immediate future, so she was truly baffled by the dream.

She sank back into the bed, trying to recall the specifics, already fading from her consciousness. The trees were more dense this time and she had to squeeze herself through them, her skin breaking as the branches tore at her. When she pulled herself out into the meadow, gasping in pain, Tristan was kneeling in the grass, watching strange white flowers bloom. When they opened their petals, they were blood red inside, but when she leaned closer, she realized the blood was falling from the sky, covering them both.

She blinked into the darkness, shivering as she counted to herself, a habit she still resorted to whenever feelings were to overwhelming.

She got to 112, but felt no real relief. She turned on the lamp on her nightstand, knowing sleep would be abandoned for the rest of the night.

* * *

Charlotte was looking out the window as she washed the dishes.

"I can't believe he can get him to talk to him for an hour straight," she wondered out loud, "seems like I can't even get him to say hi to me."

Rory watched as her friend's eyes focused on Tristan and Matthew's forms out in the back yard. Daniel was sitting in her lap, while Susie was showing her drawings she'd made in art class.

"Is he still getting into trouble at school?" she asked, worry evident in her voice.

She recalled the conversations she'd had with Charlotte after that time Matthew ran away and showed up at Rory and Tristan's. She had told her that Matthew had been acting out even more and getting in trouble for it and she felt a special worry nagging at her whenever she thought of the troubled teenager.

"Yeah, what else is new?" Charlotte chuckled. "How is teaching, when do you start back?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Next week actually. It's great" Rory smiled, "I love it. It's more busy than I thought it would be. There is a lot of kinks to work out from last semester, but the university was very pleased with the feedback and they want to expand the course. Seems like I'm already swamped with scheduling assignments and putting together midterms. There's a lot of online teaching materials to prepare. You'd think talking with IT guys about how to post assignments would be the easy part of all this, but I feel more exhausted than when I was actually teaching. I take naps in the afternoon!" she laughed.

"Is it strange to be going to work every morning?" Charlotte asked her.

"Yeah, but it's nice to be in one place" she replied with a reverent smile.

She watched as Charlotte looked at her, wiping her hand in a dishcloth as she finished with the dishes. They hadn't really talked about it, her commitment to Tristan, her compromises about her way of life or even the fact that she had made friends with the other wives, but Charlotte seemed to know and understand everything. There was a moment of silence and she felt the warm gaze of Charlotte, knowing the beautiful woman understood more than she could ever tell her with words.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat?" she asked her, moving to sit across from her.

"Ugh, no" Rory frowned, "I still feel squeamish. It must be the Chinese from last night. I gotta stop ordering take out, it's just been difficult to motivate myself to cook with work."

"You may have another of my apple sauces" Daniel turned in her lap and she chuckled.

"Why thank you, Danny, you're very thoughtful. And have perfect manners" she added.

"Hopefully your brother's attitude won't rub off on you" Charlotte added with a sad smile as she caressed her little boy's face.

"He's getting so big" Rory said.

"I know," Charlotte said with her face in a fake frown, "I'd rather keep him like this."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"I don't know. I guess… I just realized I'll never have one again" she said and Rory looked up at her, surprised.

Charlotte carried her burden, her grief with such poise, she often forgot, that seeing the faces of her children every day must have been a stark reminder of what she had lost.

She saw that grief now, as Charlotte gazed at Danny, her eyes shining with a hint of sadness. "And that feeling… of bringing one into the world… there's nothing like it" she murmured.

Rory watched her with a strange kind of sadness stirring within her and she felt an overwhelming feeling suddenly as she watched Charlotte pull Susie into a hug.

She was distracted by the door slamming open.

"Mom, Knight is gonna take a look at dad's Firebird" Matthew ran into the house, heading for the garage.

Charlotte looked at Tristan with a scolding look.

"He said he can't get it to start" Tristan said with a shrug.

"Yeah, that's probably a good thing" Charlotte said with an eyebrow arching.

"If you don't want me to…" Tristan said, but Charlotte shook her head with a smile.

"No, that's fine. If fixing a car is going to keep him from trying to steal one, you go ahead" she said getting up and taking Daniel from Rory.

"Come on, time for your bath" she chuckled as Danny protested meekly.

Rory watched as Susie ran after them, remaining alone in the quiet den.

She felt the feeling from before return, her heart beating in an anxious race as she felt uneasiness settle in her.

* * *

The uneasy feeling stayed.

And so did the queasiness.

She looked at the piece of plastic in her hand and her whole body felt numb, dissolving into the humid evening air.

She heard the front door open and it jolted her into action, quickly wrapping and discarding the stick.

He'd been gone two days and she wasn't sure if it was because he left on a mission or if they were still doing training. There have been a lot of those lately and it always foretold a new, longer string of assignments.

She hurried downstairs and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, taking a calming breath, feeling her fingers shake lightly.

She gathered her composure and moved, greeting him nonchalantly as he unlaced boots that seemed to be covered in a thick layer of mud.

"Hey" she called out.

"Hey" he turned around smiling a tired smile as he pulled her into a hug.

She burrowed her head into his chest and tried to calm her racing heart.

"Where were you?" she asked, her voice sounding skittish to her own ears.

"Night drill in North Carolina" he murmured.

"Was it fun?" she asked, her face still burrowed into his chest, feeling his warmth.

He chuckled.

"Yeah," he said, "it actually was."

She pulled back to look at him, seeing his easy smile. He was usually in a good mood when they were training and she figured it was because the camaraderie only grew stronger as they readied themselves for new tasks.

"Is it training for a new mission?" she asked searching his face.

He was quiet, his smile fading slowly as he obviously contemplated his answer.

She sighed, knowing he would much rather say nothing, than placate her with a lie.

"Right" she acknowledged his expression that clearly proved he was in fact readying for another assignment.

"It's still a couple of weeks away" he said, his face apologetic.

"Hot or cold?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Hot" he replied, without missing a beat.

"Awesome" she thought rubbing her eyes. Not like war zones were more appealing according to climate.

He leaned in, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'm gonna take a shower" he said, his fingers tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I'll start dinner" she motioned towards the kitchen.

She moved to the kitchen, taking a deep breath as she tried to concentrate on something, anything. She took out vegetables, setting them next to the cutting board. She picked out the knife, the one he sharpened last week and was sharp enough to slide through anything and started chopping the pieces, throwing them into the pan that she put on the stove.

She heard the door from the upstairs bathroom slam open and she froze, the knife suspended mid air.

Her heart raced, even before the thought lodged into her brain: the fact that she had been so preoccupied by hiding the test in the waste bin that she forgot about the box, left on the sink.

She felt her skin warm on her face as panic flooded her. She listened, breath held, to his measured steps down the stairs and she braced herself. There was only silence.

She turned around slowly and was taken aback by his blue eyes boring into hers, the pregnancy test in his hand.

She saw him taking even, controlled breaths and his expression was unreadable.

"Did you want to tell me?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

She took an unsteady breath, turning back to the cutting board, her hand grasping the knife so hard her knuckles turned white.

"I was hoping not to" she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she continued with her task at hand.

She felt his hand on her arm, slow, but persistent and she faltered, closing her eyes to withstand the onslaught of panic inside her. She didn't resist as he turned her around slowly to face him.

Her eyes met his, his face unreadable but his eyes swirling with so much intensity she had to remind herself to breathe. His expression calm and unyielding, his hand moved to the knife and took it from her, her fingers unclasping instantly at his insistence.

His movements fast then, he threw the knife into the sink and the sound made her gasp, the panic inside her surging. She felt a chill run up her spine and she instinctively backed up, her hands resting on the counter.

"What were you planing to do?" he asked slowly, his voice measured as his eyes looked up to meet hers again.

"Do we have to talk about this?" she asked, her voice small as she swallowed, her legs feeling unsteady.

"Yes, we have to, Rory" he said incredulous.

She tore her eyes away from him, the intensity there overwhelming and she blinked, trying to keep her head clear.

"We don't want kids. We are not going to have a kid" she said with finality, glancing back at him as the ensuing silence made her panic return.

He stared at her, his brows furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"You're pregnant" he said, the words making her inhale sharply.

"Yes" she replied, looking up at the ceiling as she took another steadying breath.

"Were you not going to tell me?" he asked, his face turning into a frown.

She looked back at him, surprised by his response.

"What is there to say?" she asked with a deep breath, shifting her weight to the other foot.

He shook his head slowly, his hand going up to his mouth as he seemed to be weighing her reaction.

She watched his eyes dart around aimlessly, his body turning as his hand slid from his mouth up into his hair, running through the messy tresses.

He started pacing in the kitchen and she watched him with a worried expression.

"Tristan. It's... not what we planned. It's… This doesn't have to be complicated... It was a mistake and I don't even know how it... It must have been when I had that stomach flu last month and we..." she rambled, but was stopped when he held up his hand.

"Just give me a minute" he murmured, continuing to pace.

"You have your job and I… can't even fathom…" she started, but trailed off, not knowing which ones to list of the myriad reasons. "I thought I wouldn't tell you, because you don't need to worry about this and I don't need to make it into a bigger deal than it is..." she went on.

"Just give me a god damn minute" he yelled and she froze, the volume of his voice surprising her.

She'd never heard him yell before. Not like this.

She felt the ground opening up beneath her feet, reliving the moment of fear and dread when she first realized what might have happened and then the certainty when she saw the test turn positive in her hands, the feelings of the moments now rushing back to her.

"Do you want this baby, Rory?" she heard him ask and she looked up, meeting his expectant gaze, her mind reeling to understand his question.

"No" she scoffed and shook her head. "No, of course not."

She looked at him, clasping her arms around herself as she felt his panicked gaze on her.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" he asked his face contorting in pain.

She looked at him furrowing her brows, not understanding.

"If we don't want kids and this was a mistake, why not tell me?" he asked again, his face desperate as he fixed his gaze on her.

She opened her mouth to say something, but his words slowly sunk in, leaving a heavy ache in her soul.

There was no rationale to her actions and she felt her head ache when she tried to understand why he seemed to be focusing on this aspect of the problem. She furrowed her brows trying to explain to herself why she felt like she had to hide it from him. To spare him? To spare herself from even having to think about it? If she didn't have to think about it, she wouldn't have to wear the weight of it, wouldn't have to imagine what it would even entail.

She let her mind wander for a split second only, but the thought of a child unleashed such a pang of hurt in her chest, a gaping wound in the shape of her own mother, her own childhood, her mother climbing into her bed to recall giving birth to her, her home in Stars Hollow, a magical fortress despite the obvious hardships.

She closed her eyes to reel in the wandering thoughts racking havoc inside of her. When she opened them again, taking a steadying breath, she focused on his expectant face.

"I..." she shook her head "I don't want a baby" is all she could whisper, the emotions too intense for her to mold them into reasons, arguments.

"Because?" he urged her to go on and she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut again as the thoughts swirled again. She focused on him, thought abut him, him worrying about her so much she risked a mission, him risking his own life to save Jake, him being upset about not being able to be here for Matthew, him advancing the ranks, him fulfilling the expectations of smooth faced men.

"Rory" his gentle calling stopped her whirlpooling thoughts.

"Because I... because we..." she couldn't formulate the ending, despite the never ending list of reasons. Nothing made sense.

"We can't have a baby" she finally said, her voice stronger than before even as tears prickled her eyes.

She looked back up at Tristan, desperate for his face to be calm, desperate for him to understand, to know, to remember the same reasons that guided his life, the reasons he faced and lived every day, so obviously a part of him.

"That's different from _'we don't want a baby',_ Rory. So different" he said quietly, his face raw with emotion.

His words were sweeping tidal waves, washing away the reasons, like sand from beneath her feet and she felt the panic inch towards her heart from her numb limbs.

"Okay, so we can't" she gasped, her voice shaking. "I would resent it and you would resent it and then you would resent me and I really don't want that" she said, hearing her voice break as she let her emotions unleash.

Her eyes stung with tears and she had to reach out to steady herself on the counter.

He watched her, unmoving as a statue, his brows still furrowed as he studied her every reaction.

"So you do want the baby?" he said, more of a statement than a question, his face lost but somehow still calm.

His words, more undeniable than any intricate reasoning pierced into her soul, the panic finally flooding all of her, her hands shaking as the feeling spread.

She inhaled sharply and collapsed to the floor, her tears streaming instantly down her face.

"I'm pregnant" she cried, as if the fact, the realization, the knowledge just hit her with all of its burden, sharp ragged breaths breaking from her chest as that sentence finally registered, the sentiment unlocking the door to the fears and pain kept barely at bay deep within her. She gasped for air as her feelings wrecked havoc inside of her, the emotions leaving destruction within their path.

She felt him sit down next to her and slowly pull her into his arms, his body strong and radiating warmth, even as she sensed the quiet shock reverberate inside him.

She continued to sob into his chest, his arms rocking her gently as his lips kissed the top of her head.

* * *

They moved in a stunned silence. She didn't know how he managed to arrange it, but he had not left on another training or a mission until she scheduled an appointment at an obstetrician's office. They didn't talk about it anymore, but she felt his curious and worried eyes on her at all times, his form quietly following her from room to room.

She lay on the examining table and he sat by her side, his hand holding hers. The technician showed them the baby, its heart sounds fast and fluttering as though it were a magical wave of sound traveling from eternal distances. The technician asked if they had questions, but they both sat silently, stunned to a wordless state of shock. He left them alone in the room and they sat quietly for long minutes, his hand still squeezing hers tightly.

They met with the doctor who gave them stock answers to her questions of worry about pills having been taken and drinks having been consumed while already pregnant.

There was no certainty, just reassuring smiles that the miracle of life had a strange power of finding a way.

When they were left alone in the room, she looked at him, the desperation inside her threatening to break out of her as a wailing cry and she looked in wonder as his face changed, suddenly and irrevocably, his eyes calming and the lines of his face smoothing.

"It's okay, Rory" he said simply. "We'll figure it out."

She shook her head slowly but had no reasoning, no protest.

He smiled at her, although it didn't reach his eyes, and pulled her close, holding her as she sobbed quietly into his chest.

There was no further conversations about options or what would be right. It had been decided, even if it filled her with dread and uncertainty. She felt delirious, her mind suddenly convinced that this had always been her legacy, her predecided fate and she wanted to scream and throw up at the cruelty of life.

He seemed to handle it with a stoic calm, but she felt him watch her with quiet worry several times a day. He had been attentive before, but now he was even more so, never letting her lift things, offering to help with any task she was doing.

"I'm pregnant, not sick" she snapped at him when he gently made her move and took over washing the dishes. He just nodded, but took over from her anyways.

When he did finally have to go, he kissed her goodbye, his kiss deep and full of emotion. She gasped as his hand brushed over her stomach before he turned to meet Spinner out front.

She walked the quiet rooms of their house in a dreamlike state, waiting with baited breath for the semester to start so she could focus on something, anything else.

It was hard, being alone with her thoughts all the time and after twelve weeks, after the new ultrasound, she decided to tell the girls.

She told Stella and the blonde reacted with such joy that she forgot that she was afraid of bursting into tears when she finally had to talk about any of it with anyone. She sat, smiling calmly as her friend dug out old boxes from a closet, showing her baby clothes and gear that she thought she'd never know how to use.

Donna took a deep breath and squeezed her arm and Vicki squealed in delight. Gina took the news with a surprisingly earnest smile and the two shared an awkward silent exchange, one that only could happen between two women who were on the opposite side of the dilemma of a child being conceived.

When he came back, he asked her how she was, his expression surprisingly worried.

She told him everything was fine.

"The baby?" he asked her, his face conflicted.

"Baby's fine," she nodded, "apparently about the size of a lime."

"Lime" he exhaled. "That's... good, that's a good size."

Days later he came home with a box and she regarded it curiously.

"I went to see Charlotte" he offered as an explanation. "It's Daniel's old crib."

She had to rush to the bathroom and she made it just in time before she hurled into the toilet. He watched her with a quiet worry, holding her hair back as the retching continued for minutes even after her stomach was completely empty.

He made no attempt to talk to her about it, but he did put the box away somewhere in the garage, away from her sight.

When she first realized she was showing, she stood in front of the mirror in their bedroom, perplexed, her hand running over her stomach as she turned, trying to catch a glimpse of her profile.

He walked in on her and as soon as their eyes met she burst out crying. He kissed her senseless and made love to her, telling her he loved her and that everything would be alright. She didn't fully believe him but she managed to fall asleep in his arms and rest for a while.

* * *

It was hard to pinpoint each and every feeling she felt. The overwhelming storm inside her was indescribable. She felt it move every time she did, the emotions shifting, sometimes launching her into a despair so deep she found herself crouching on the floor just to get her bearings.

She took up a habit of sitting in the back porch watching the leaves turn their color. She counted the colors and counted the feelings she felt inside of herself. She felt for some reason that if she counted them, assigned names to them, it would give them order and it would give her power to control them.

She named the dread that bright yellow that the oak trees had on the top parts, the intense pain she felt when thinking of becoming a mother and not having her own with her - that was that astonishing red the cherry trees turned into. Her shame growing by the minute for not being able to feel pure joy, that was assigned to the shallow green of the magnolias, and the guilt, deep and relentless was the dried up brown of fallen leaves. Those were the ones that seemed to be growing in number, surrounding her and dancing around her as the autumn winds blew.

She was sitting there, motionless and trying to count the colors when she first felt the baby move.

She gasped, her heart stopping and then relaunching in a faltering race and her trembling hands traced the contours of her growing belly as she felt the feelings barely settled, turn up into a swirling see of colors.

"There you are" she whispered, closing her eyes as she gave up trying to bring order to her soul.


	30. Everything for you

Author's note: Thank you for reading and the amazing feedback on the last chapter. And for your patience, although you're probably all too busy trimming trees and wrangling kids and frantically coming up with last minute gift ideas to be waiting for this right now.

It actually worked out well with the timing, since this is a bit holiday themed.

Hereforthe: Thank you for sharing, that means so much. Also, you don't have private messaging enabled, so the only way I can reply is here :)

Thank you so much again and Happy Holidays to all!

But also, ANGST!

* * *

It was strange to see him, so leveled, so accepting. He had always been calm, that was nothing new, but his whole demeanor, his whole being was a stark contrast to her flailing, insecure mess of feelings.

Time seemed to move slowly and the dueling feelings inside her did not settle even as she felt the change within her, her body adjusting slowly, but surely. She felt like the more she was showing, the more she disappeared: Rory, the person morphing into another identity, someone she couldn't quite define.

The swell of her abdomen was something she hid obsessively, as if talking about it would mean thinking about it and thinking about it would leave her defenseless.

The girls felt this intuitively and gave her space, but the first time she saw his crew in full, Spinner walked right up to her with a huge grin on his face. He reached out his hands, his palms coming to rest on her growing belly.

She looked down on his hands astonished, not able to protest.

"Jesus Christ, Spinner, back the hell down" Tristan growled, but Spinner lifted a hand to bring Tristan's in to replace his.

"You're my brother, Knight. This one is all of ours, you gotta learn to share" he said with a smile, so genuine that they both stared at him.

Tristan's face showed a begrudging annoyance even as he refrained from making any more comments.

Spinner's face glowed with a warm smile. Rory looked at him, her belly tingling under his touch and felt the baby kick.

Spinner laughed, a throaty, burgeoning laugh and Rory couldn't help the smile spreading on her own lips.

"I don't know why you would need me to share, you probably have a bunch of these incubating somewhere, Spinner" Tristan murmured with an eyeroll and stalked off into the kitchen of Donna and Billy's house where they were gathered for a Thanksgiving dinner.

Spinner snickered, his hand still on Rory's abdomen, as the two of them remained in the foyer, the baby continuing to move.

"He might not be wrong" he shrugged and winked at Rory, his hands still on her.

She smiled, surprised by the lack of discomfort, happy to be feeling at ease after her constant internal turmoil.

"You okay?" Spinner asked and she wondered if her feelings were that transparent. She looked up at him, his eyes studying her face, her throat feeling too dry for her to even attempt to answer.

"This is a great thing, Rory" he whispered. "I always knew he'd make a great father."

Rory felt her face falter, the emotions inside her stirring, her fears: her inadequacy, his inadequacy, her trauma, his bad memories; all disarmed at Spinner's simple words.

"I hope you're right" she said, willing a smile on her face.

"Sometimes, god has a way of listening to prayers we don't even know we made" he said, looking down on his hand still touching her.

She started to feel like she would feel a void if he finally took it away.

* * *

Unlike her mother, she had no innate sense of snow. So, when she woke up to the bright glare of freshly fallen snow covering everything in sight, she was surprised. She was even more surprised to hear the steady sound of a grovel working to clear the driveway up to the house.

She smiled instinctively, rushing to the window to see his form clad in a coat and gloves, working like he hadn't been gone for the past several weeks.

She raced down the stairs, stopping only to throw on a coat and step into her boots and tore the front door open.

"You're back" she squealed, launching into his arms as he turned around, abandoning his task to greet her. His face became clouded over as his eyes settled on her.

"Rory, it's freezing" he scolded her.

She ignored him, rising onto her toes to kiss him with all her might.

"When did you get back?" she asked.

"A couple of hours ago" he said, pulling her close and pulling her coat tight around her.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked, pouting.

"You were sound asleep. It's not a common occurrence" he said, his remarks pointed.

She bit the inside of her cheeks in quiet acceptance, her eyes dropping to his mouth. She knew what he was referring to, her dreams making her wake up almost nightly ever since she found out about her pregnancy. It was something she accepted, the fact that her becoming a mother would make her dreams about her own mother more frequent, even if she longed for a night of dreamless rest.

"Did you go to your appointment?" he asked, lifting her chin lightly so her eyes would refocus on his.

She nodded.

"Sorry I didn't get back on time" he said and she inhaled a deep breath.

"It's fine" she shrugged.

"What did they say?" he asked.

"That everything was looking normal" she smiled at him, knowing what he was trying to find out.

"Was it still trolling us?" he asked, referring to the fact that they should have already found out the sex but the baby was apparently too shy to give the ultrasound technician the money shot until now.

"He wasn't" she said, looking at him intently.

His face froze in a baffled look before recognition slowly set in and she watched as the succession of emotions followed each other like an avalanche. She wondered if he had been expecting the other option. If she was honest, so had she, the notion that she would have a boy somehow unfathomable. When she found out though, she felt oddly grateful towards the considerate being growing inside of her, as if he knew to try to take it easy on his mother.

Then she felt a flash of guilt, realizing she once again disregarded his possible feelings, the fact that being a father to a son would be as weighted for him as being a mother to a girl would have been for her.

"A boy" he said, marveling, his lips slowly turning into a smirk, a smirk that somehow quieted all her fears.

She studied his eyes, shining with a strange kind of wonder. She couldn't help but mirror his expression and for a moment she felt like how she thought ordinary couples felt about welcoming a child into the world, unburdened by the weight of grief, worry and painful memories.

* * *

He was gone a lot, sometimes only returning for a couple of days at a time and she wondered if the things he was working on were weighing on him. He always came back happy, balanced, noting with a smile how much her bump had grown since he'd last seen her. He greeted her with a kiss, only moving to caress her tummy gently after she'd tucked herself into his side.

She realized that the strangest part about pregnancy was people wanting to touch her.

Her body had been her own for so long, touched only briefly by people she specifically gave consent to, and only for short periods of time when the need for intimacy and its mind-numbing effect would overwhelm the urge inside her to be alone and unbothered.

That changed with Tristan of course, her body always open and ready towards him, slowly learning to regard intimacy as a way of communication rather than of release.

But now, touching was an everyday occurrence. Stella greeted her by running her hand over her growing bump and although in theory she resented it – why would people be encouraged to touch a pregnant woman's most delicate part? – with her, she did not mind. The other girls would swerve into her aura too, caressing her with an excited smile, trying to feel the baby kick any time her sudden frown alerted them that he was especially active.

And there were other people too, sometimes complete strangers, children walking up to her in stores with smiles as they declared "baby", their mother apologizing profusely, old ladies patting her gently and asking about due dates.

It left her feeling astonished. This baby was already making her face things that felt unfathomable even a short while prior.

Danny adored her growing belly. Every time they visited Charlotte, he would sit, next to Rory on the couch, leaning his ear down over Rory's bump, listening with baited breath.

"I think I can hear her heartbeat" he whispered and Rory chuckled unable to stop herself.

"I hate to disappoint you, Danny, but it's going to be a boy" she said.

The little boy lifted his face with an annoyed expression.

"Seriously?" he said, with disdain.

Rory laughed, wholeheartedly, for the first time in a long while that she could remember.

"I'm sorry" she chuckled.

"Maybe you know wrong" Danny bargained.

* * *

To say she was grumpy would have been an understatement. She was downright irritated, by virtually everyone and everything. She looked at other pregnant women with disdain, the ones that had the serene smiles and magical air of contentment floating around them, their glow announcing their centered, balanced state of mind from miles away.

She was not that pregnant lady. She was the one with the unforecastable morning sickness, that could not be tied to a certain food or state of mind or time of day really. It just hit her suddenly, like a ton of bricks, sometimes in the middle of lectures, sometimes in the middle of the night.

Her appetite, not much to begin with, weaned, and she had to force herself to eat regularly when her OBGYN pointed out she wasn't gaining the expected amount of weight.

The second trimester fared better as far as morning sickness, but by the end of it, the focus shifted to her body and its newly discovered sensations, each one making her wonder if what she was experiencing was normal or not. There were cramps and aches and pains, the baby pushing on her bladder to a point where she had to schedule regular bathroom breaks during lectures.

"Don't you just love being pregnant?" Stella asked her with a knowing smirk as Rory sat, legs lifted up onto a chair as she tried to decrease the swelling of her ankles.

She gave her a look that would have made most people drop dead on the spot, but Stella just snorted.

"Thankfully, it's only 9 months" Stella winked. "Then it's 18 years of pure hell."

She inhaled a deep breath, the usual comical threats of experienced parents ringing way too true to her for reasons she couldn't describe.

"I'll just dump him on you and Donna" she retorted.

"Or Gina. She might actually steal him" Stella replied and Rory felt a pang of guilt, remembering the quiet and heartbreaking confession from Gina the month prior. It had been the third time she had miscarried.

"I don't understand how the universe works sometimes" she shook her head, tears prickling her eyes.

She felt Stella's hand on hers and their eyes met. She saw such calm, such compassion, that she calmed instantly.

"It's not for us to understand everything. It's for us to carry the weight" she said and Rory nodded, even though she couldn't find it in herself to internalize the sentiment.

* * *

She smiled as she saw him leaning against the stone wall of the lecture building, ready to pick her up. He had been home for a couple of days and he had spent the time quietly arranging the nursery. He hadn't told her, but she found him there one day, the crib already set up while he was working on a changing table.

"What's that?" she had asked.

"It's somewhere to change the diapers" he had replied and she had felt guilt, angst and nausea rush her in a quick succession.

"I've been really good at avoiding all this shit" she had said, looking at him with a frown.

He had shrugged with a small smirk in place.

"You still have a lot of time" he had replied. "I just wanna get stuff done while I'm home."

"Right" she had nodded, knowing he'd probably be gone again in a couple of days.

When he had been done, he had closed the door to the nursery and she had left it there unopened, like bluebeard's secret passage, always a quiet knowledge inside her mind.

She thought of the closed door now, and his stoic urge to get ready for the baby even if she sabotaged the attempts. She approached him, careful on the slippery surface of the stony paths of campus.

He greeted her by pulling her scarf tighter around her neck and she rolled her eyes.

"Good God" they heard the eerily familiar voice and they both looked at the origin of the exclamation with a sudden jolt.

She felt the blood freeze in her veins as her eyes landed on the familiar face.

"Paris?" Tristan asked, with an astonished squint.

Rory looked at the face, thinner and sharper than she remembered, a stylish bob framing it delicately.

The thin, tall girl marched up to them, her signature, cool frown present on her face.

"It's like my worst fears and insecurities wrapped up into a neat bundle" she spat, looking at Rory, her eyes skimming her growing bump.

"My arch nemesis, knocked up by my high school crush" she deadpanned.

Rory closed her eyes, shaking her head as she inhaled a deep breath.

"Arch nemesis? We lived together for four years, Paris" she sighed.

"High school crush?" Tristan deadpanned, while the two women ignored him.

"I was your only confidant through college" Rory went on.

"Yeah, and then you fucking went off into the sunset on a bus" Paris shot back.

"High school crush?" Tristan repeated.

"Oh, get over yourself" Paris shot him a remark, her eyes not leaving Rory.

"I got a job, you went into medschool" Rory continued their argument, unflinching as Tristan snickered next to her.

"You fucking disappeared" Paris shot at her, her eyes serious as ever.

She swallowed, knowing she wasn't referring to her becoming busy with her DC job.

She faltered, a moment of silence enveloping them.

She knew that Paris was right. She was one of the people she had let go, too raw and damaged to be able to engage.

"I lost her too, you know. I know you liked to joke about what an emotional hunchback I was, but she was the closest thing I had to a mother figure" she heard Paris say, the words more quiet than the usual tone she used.

The words slid under her coat, cutting into her like a weightless knife, sharp and relentless, he breathing stopping as the sharp, debilitating pain made itself evident.

She felt Tristan seamlessly slip an arm around her, holding her up and only then did she realize that her legs had gone limp, her weight secured by him as he continued to focus on Paris.

"Paris" he said. "It's good to see you. I see you haven't changed much."

Paris continued to stare at Rory for another second, Rory feeling transfixed by the hurt evident in her eyes.

"And what the fuck happened to you? Last I heard you were disappointing your parents by fucking enlisting to go to the army? What are you, reenacting Hair?" she spat turning to face Tristan.

He chuckled, the sound making Rory focus on him, his face in an amused expression.

"Something like that" he murmured, glancing at Rory, his expression worried as he studied her pale face.

"And how did this happen?" Paris pointed to Rory's midsection with obvious disdain.

Tristan glanced at Rory, as if trying to read her thoughts, then took a breath.

"I think it's a pretty straight forward process" he said with an amused tone.

"You know what I mean" the blonde cut him off.

He sighed with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"We ran into each other 4 years ago. I asked her on a date, we went out, got married last year and now we're having a baby" Tristan said, voice steely. Rory felt an almost undeniable urge to laugh out loud, hearing his summary of events, slightly unrealistic, but not entirely untrue.

Paris looked at the two of them, baffled, her piercing, accusing gaze landing on Rory.

"Well, isn't that swell?" she gritted out.

"How about you?" Tristan asked, with a plastered on smile. "What are you doing at Georgetown?"

Rory had the distinct feeling he was trying to defuse the tension surrounding them and she felt thankful even as she feared the attempt would be futile.

"I was giving a guest lecture on modern reproductive techniques" she said. "I have a PhD in reproductive medicine."

"That's great, Paris" Tristan smiled warmly at her.

The blonde squinted at him, her features unaffected by his obvious attempt to charm her into a more favorable mood. She then turned back to Rory and she braced herself, seeing Paris take a deep breath.

"I know I'm not the warmest person Rory, but I would have been there for you. You could have called me, I would have been there. When I found out, from my parents whom I speak to once a year, I tried calling you, I went to that god forsaken town to pay my respect…"

"Paris" Tristan said, his tone warning and the blonde looked at him.

"Look, I think these are valid questions. She was my friend. I don't have a lot of those and I have been through a lot myself" she said, her voice obviously upset.

"I understand, but you need to tone it down" Tristan said, his words quiet but dangerous.

"Oh, so you're the knight in shining armor" she seethed.

"Quite fucking literally" he replied, "so I'll ask you one more time, tone it the fuck down."

Tristan's face was serious now, his eyes shining with a determined resolve.

Paris's mouth thinned as her face became stern, the two of them staring at each other, the tension palpable.

"Whatever" she said, her eyes focusing on Rory, who looked on, unable to say anything. "By all means" she said, her arms spreading dramatically. "Don't care about what happened to other people. Don't give a shit about how they cope. Continue to have a charmed little life. The universe, I'm sure, will continue to revolve around Rory Gilmore."

Rory watched as the blonde, a pale, thin ghost from her old life turned around, high heels echoing on the icy stone path as she disappeared from their view.

* * *

She could sense his quiet worry. He had been following her, from room to room, with a concern that made her want to scream.

She had been counting to herself for days, ever since that surreal encounter at campus, her panic a continuous fluttering inside her chest.

Sleep had been elusive, but she didn't mind, knowing there would be a big, fat, disturbing nightmare on the other side waiting for her anyway.

"I need to leave tomorrow" he said and she looked up startled, seeing him leaning against the wall as he watched her work at the kitchen isle.

She inhaled, her chest feeling constricted by weights and she closed her eyes, the exhaustion so overwhelming she felt she might cry.

"Great" she murmured.

He moved over to the other side of the isle, sitting down on the stool and leaning over the isle to take her hand into his. His eyes were concentrating on their fingers intertwining.

"I asked Jimmy to come stay for a while" he said and she withdrew her hand instinctively.

"I don't need a babysitter" she remarked cynically.

"He's not a babysitter. He's your friend" he retorted and she rolled her eyes.

"That you use as your own personal private eye" she shot back.

"I don't need to have eyes on you, Rory, I could have a fucking live feed, if I wanted, trust me" he raised an eyebrow and she sighed, fuming, knowing the joke only sounded like a joke.

"Well, then, let's settle for that, shall we? You don't need to crowd me any more."

"He won't be…" he protested, but she cut him off.

"Tristan, I know you're worried, but I'm fine. If we were fine about me accidentally getting pregnant and then us deciding to what the heck, have a baby and spend fucking holidays in setups where there is thirty people being loud and happy and me having a steady job while you go and tempt faith with your missions, then one fucking encounter with Paris Gellar isn't going to unravel my sanity" she said, her words seething.

He sighed, his face tense as his jaw set and she had to look away, feeling guilty for her outburst.

"You haven't been sleeping" he said quietly.

"I haven't been sleeping even before she unleashed hell on me, trust me" she sighed, exasperated.

"Are you dreaming of her?" he asked, his voice careful.

She looked at him, his eyes pale and warm and worried.

She knew he meant her mother and the images flashed before her eyes, her form, with her back turned to her, always just out of reach.

She nodded as she swallowed, her throat closing off.

"You're stronger than you think you are, Rory" he said quietly.

"Then you agree I don't need Jimmy to babysit me?" she replied, eyebrow arching slightly.

He sighed, a defeated scoff escaping his mouth.

"Fine" he shrugged, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Hey" she said, knowing it was him on the other end of the line.

"Hey. Were you asleep?" he asked.

"No" she chuckled and she could feel the scolding look he must have been giving, even through the telephone.

"Where _you_ asleep?" she asked, her tone slightly cynical.

"No, we had some… stuff to take care of" he said, his voice closed off and she wondered what stuff that might have been on friggin' Christmas Eve.

She had asked about it once, why every year a mission seemed to be scheduled around Christmas. The wives half expected it every year as if it were a given. He had sighed and shrugged.

"They would expect us to be vulnerable on Christmas. They would expect us to be unfocused. They don't expect us to plan anything elaborate."

Things like that, so rational and so gut wrenching at the same time still baffled her, even after years of hearing him give simple answers to strange questions.

"What do you have planned tomorrow?" he asked her, his voice warmer as she was pulled from her thoughts.

She shrugged, her eyes darting around on the ceiling.

"I was thinking of grading term papers" she replied.

"So festive" he remarked.

She shrugged again, even though he couldn't see her. This time of year, she liked to hide, so she wasn't exactly mulling over the fact that he was away. The thought of decorating, buying a tree, partaking in traditions would have seemed dishonest, so she refrained.

"I got you a present" he said and she furrowed her brows, holding her breath.

"What present?" she asked, incredulous.

"Go see" he said, voice calm.

"Where?" she asked, sitting up in bed, curiosity taking a hold of her.

"It's in the nursery" he said and she felt her stomach drop slightly.

She hadn't set foot in the place since he had left a couple of weeks prior, so it figured she never noticed a present there. The fact that he had been expecting that fact left her feeling guilty, but she was distracted by his urging over the phone.

"Are you gonna go see?" he asked, with an amused tone.

"I'm going" she said, sitting up in bed and sighing.

She walked to the door two doors down from their bedroom, the door closed. She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open quietly, flicking the light on as she entered.

She saw the crib there, the changing table and a new addition: a rocking chair with a little bow tied onto it. Next to the chair, against the wall, she saw a small bookshelf, with a couple of books lining it. She skimmed over them, smiling at the titles: The Tales of the Brothers Grim, A Thousand and One Nights, Fables of La Fontaine, Bedtime Bible Story Book.

"It's quite an eclectic collection" she murmured and she heard him chuckle on the other end.

"I figured story time was going to be more for you anyway."

The thought of him thinking about things like that, planning for her, made her feel a strange sense of calm, the angst of being in the nursery dissipating slowly.

"Thank you" she said, smiling into the phone as she sat down into the chair, rocking it carefully.

* * *

She walked into the house, swollen ankles hurting even in the most comfortable kicks she owned. It was the last stretch of her pregnancy and she felt a constant panic inside herself, as if she were heading towards something inevitable that she felt she would never be quite ready for.

He was sitting on the couch reading but got up to take her bag from her as she unbuttoned her heavy coat.

"More baby clothes" she murmured in an annoyed tone, "from Donna."

He nodded, setting the bag down against the stairs and guiding her into the living room to take the place he had been occupying on the couch.

"You want some tea?" he asked her, moving towards the kitchen. "The food is gonna be done in a little bit" he added, peaking into the pan that was the origin of the incredible smell that filled the house.

She squinted at him, his routine of going to the base in the morning, then doing household chores or cooking in the afternoon becoming a regular occurrence.

It was strange to have him around so much, but her happiness was not unclouded.

"You haven't been gone for almost a month" she said, the thought finally voicing itself after it had been bothering her for days.

"Am I getting on your nerves?" he asked, amused.

"You've not been here for more than 2 weeks at a time for the past 3 years and now you haven't gone on a mission in a month" she listed the facts.

"That's a bit of an overstatement" he said walking back from the kitchen and handing her the cup of steaming tea.

"It's not an overstatement" she said, her eyebrow arching as her piercing gaze settled on him.

He sighed, rolling his eyes in defeat.

"They know you're pregnant Rory. It's the army, not the KGB" he said, sitting down on the armrest of the couch, his feet facing her as he watched her warm her fingers on the hot cup.

She knew what had prompted him to ask for time off: her premature contractions and a trip to the emergency room the month prior.

Tristan had been away and she'd called Stella, scared and in a panic. She had been placed on a magnesium drip and her contractions had stopped within hours. He had arrived there the next morning.

She had stared at Stella accusingly as he had rushed in and scolded her for not calling herself.

"I don't want you to stop doing what you're doing" she said, her eyes focusing on the doorway of the living room as she felt his eyes study her profile.

"I haven't" he stated simply.

"You're going to become restless and you're going to hate me and you're going to hate this baby and I already am scared about hating this baby" she rambled.

"No one is going to hate this baby, Rory" he sighed.

"He's already making you take time off from work" she said, turning to look up at him from her place on the couch.

"I think that was pretty much a given" he said.

"But not so soon" she replied. "And I don't even know how it's going to work after he's born" she went on.

"We'll figure it out" he smiled reassuringly but it made her frown.

"This isn't what you wanted" she frowned.

"I'm good at adapting" he shrugged.

"This is not what I wanted" she went on with her reasoning.

He nodded, his gaze shifting from her eyes like it usually did when he didn't want her reading his emotions, but she noted his reaction to her declaration with a wave of concern.

"Yet this is the decision we've made. Let's try not to be complete psychopaths about this" he said, sliding from the armrest to sit next to her on the couch, his arm going around her shoulder.

She could feel him trying to ignore her concerns.

"I can't fathom this being good for anyone to grow up in" she whispered gesturing around her.

He looked at her and she swore she saw a pang of hurt in his eyes.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice even, controlled.

She opened her mouth, trying to find a rational answer, but faltered. She wondered if he felt hurt by her admission.

She shook her head slightly.

"This kid must be bathing in a pool of angst since it's conception. And I don't know if it's going to be better once he's out. How am I going to be enough? How are you going to feel like you are doing enough?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, thinking as his eyes moved from hers to stare into the distance.

"I don't know" he replied with a slight shrug. "All I know," he said, turning back to her, "is that so far, every decision I made with you turned out okay."

Her mouth fell open as his simple words registered, her reasoning leaving her.

"How are you this calm?" she whispered, watching his hand play with the hem of her sweater.

"I've been trained" he replied without missing a beat.

She sighed with an eyeroll, feeling the ache of her ankles had only been getting worse even though she had been sitting for the past minutes.

"Look at me" she heard him say and she looked up to meet his eyes. "Do you regret anything?"

"No. Of course not. I'm just worried" she replied.

"Do you see me worried?" he asked, a small smile on his face.

"No" she shook her head.

"Then suck it up" he said, reaching across her face to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She couldn't help the chuckle breaking from her lips.

"Is this your pep talk to rookies?" she asked, eyebrow arching.

"No, I'm less wordy with them" he replied with a smirk.

"This is wordy? _'Suck it up'_?" she asked, incredulous and he chuckled.

She sighed, burrowing into his side as she willed her body to relax.

"Spinner told me to tell you he came up with a name" he said and she knew he was trying to distract her. "I told him he was delusional and that I'm not gonna let him name our son."

She chuckled.

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

"Samuel" he replied. "He said it means 'God has heard'. For some reason he thought you'd understand why that's relevant" he shrugged.

Rory felt her chest swell with emotion, her hands going to her tummy as she recalled the conversation.

"Samuel" she said out loud. "I like it."

"Yeah, I actually do too, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction" he growled and she let the laughter bubble from inside her chest.


	31. Can't do anything

Author's note: Thank you so much for your reviews. I hope you all were not expecting this to turn sappy, just cause a baby is on his way... I gave you ample time to be joyful over the holidays, now it's back to Angst Central. tickle582: now is that a request? ;)

* * *

Samuel DuGray was born on a Wednesday night. He came a week past his due date, during a cold front, after a week of unreasonably warm weather.

The last week of pregnancy seemed to last forever as she trailed on swollen ankles and bloated limbs.

She was bracing herself for a difficult delivery, the tales of her mother ringing loudly in her ear, but the truth was, it wasn't. It was 10 hours, intense, but she welcomed every second of pain, letting her focus on that instead of the nauseating fear she felt inside of her body. In the last stage, when the contractions were hardly even stopping to give her a break, she eyed Tristan wearily, stoic by her side, brushing the sweaty locks back from her face and wiping her forehead with a wet towel.

They ended up giving him only one name, because she had decided that's all they needed. They had talked once about giving him another one, a family name from one side, but in the end, they agreed without even having to discuss it that this child didn't need the extra burden of 'Richard' or 'Janlan' weighing down on him. So Samuel it was. Simple. No middle name and no pressure. When Spinner found out, he smiled a knowing smile and Tristan growled at him to get over himself.

She watched now, as Tristan stood by the window, holding the baby, so small in his giant arms and she wondered if Spinner had been right.

She smiled as Tristan looked up at her.

"He's got your nose" he said in wonder.

"Does he?" she asked, studying the scrunched-up face as he brought him closer.

"Thank god. He doesn't need to be stuck with mine" he whispered smiling.

"I like your nose" she retorted.

"You're mystified by all the sex" he arched an eyebrow.

"Oh okay" she laughed, the effort intensifying the dull pain she still felt. She reminded herself to relax, releasing a breath as she rested her head against the pillow, closing her eyes.

"I'm very proud of you" he said and she looked up meeting his eyes, shining with something she couldn't quite name.

She sighed, looking at the bundle in his arms, her face clouding over with worry.

"Please don't screw our life up, Samuel" she whispered.

"That's great. Let's start emotionally crippling him straight out of the gate" he mused, kissing her forehead before moving away from the bed, giving her time to rest.

She watched him, slowly rocking the little bundle and her chest swelled with something that felt so full, so complete, she thought she might explode.

"I love you, you know that, right?" she whispered and smiled when he turned around, looking at her.

"I know" he said.

* * *

She realized that feelings were not to be trusted. She had all four seasons inside of herself, sometimes the emotions chasing each other so quickly, it stunned her.

She would walk in on Tristan humming gently in the nursery with the sleeping baby resting in his arm as he sat in the rocking chair and she felt the tears fall from her eyes uncontrollably. She would leave before he could realize what was going on, because she doubted she could explain that the sensation wasn't a panic attack but rather such an overwhelming feeling of happiness, it baffled her.

Then there would be times when she felt hopeless and scared, numbed by the feeling of responsibility and some strange indescribable fear. He had a weird sense about her, always knowing when to take the baby from her hands and give her some space, with a gentle "I got him."

She wondered if he was secretly happy about how things had turned out. And then she wondered if she was secretly happy too.

She found herself staring at Samuel, enthralled by the way his eyes drifted without focus, how his little fingers squeezed together, a being slowly discovering reality. Everything about him was small and yet enormous, minuscule but overwhelming. She studied the shape of his ears, so much like Tristan's, and his nose, so much like hers and she wondered how the two of them, their mismatched and beaten up parts had come together to form this tiny being that seemed to wield so much power over them already.

She had had plans before he was born, about how she'd go back to work straight away, only missing the first week of the semester, but that all went down the drain when she realized how the hours flew without her seemingly being able to do anything but keep herself and this tiny baby alive. The university was accommodating, giving her a couple of weeks to adjust, while her assistant teacher took over.

Tristan seemed to have had planned more accordingly. He hadn't gone back to work and whenever she asked him about it, he'd give her a stock answer: he was doing administration and training for an indefinite amount of time. She knew he was taking courses at West Point, doing work on his computer sometimes late into the night, but he didn't much talk about it. She figured it was in order for him to advance to commissioned officer. She thought about the words of the mysterious civilian figure, about how they had plans for Tristan. And she thought about his words as well, the goodwill he saved up by being strong and non-confrontational when needed. He was certainly using that goodwill now.

After the first week home, he returned to his schedule of going to the base every day, but was back by early afternoon. She knew his squadron was taking care of business as usual. Stella had told her they were assigned a temporary replacement lead and they went on missions, although they were more scarce and shorter than before.

It made the uneasiness inside her grow.

She remembered how adamant he was, when Jake got hurt, to not have him replaced, so she didn't dare imagine what his crew must have been feeling with a completely new lead.

If Tristan was feeling the same guilt about all of that, he didn't let on and he was certainly not restless. In fact, she'd never seen him that content, that balanced. She thought of how he had been when she'd met him that first spring in DC, his whole being vibrating with the determination to go back, to get back to what he thought was his sole purpose in life. Now he seemed to have found another purpose.

It was unnerving how natural he was at being a dad. He picked up Samuel without any anxiety, his movements sure, his arms supporting his head with a quiet ease and she wondered how it came so easy, so natural to him when she felt her constant inadequacy with everything relating to the baby. The baby seemed to respond to that confidence, often falling asleep within minutes as he took him into his arms.

Tristan was always ready to take care of him, often getting up before she was even conscious when Samuel started crying in the middle of the night, taking care of most tasks that didn't require her specific presence.

Sometimes he'd bring an inconsolable Samuel back to the bed, his fingers distracting him from crying only momentarily.

"Yeah, I'm not fooling him, he wants food" he'd whisper and Rory would smile, moving to accommodate the little monster.

Tristan would get on the bed, next to her, letting her lean against him and he would read until she'd finish, offering to take the satiated and sleeping baby back to his crib.

She would mostly be drifting in an out of sleep by the time he'd be back but still somehow look half as rested as Tristan who'd be up and ready for work the next morning with no sign of having missed any sleep.

He was a fucking machine, she concluded.

For her, everything seemed like an effort. She'd concentrate on a task and then realize astonished that hours had passed while she was doing the simplest series of things. The days went by in a rush and she collapsed into bed wondering how time seemed to pass so quickly. Rest seemed to be elusive. The feeding schedule gave her little time to have sufficient sleep, but even if she knew she'd have a couple of hours to rest she had a hard time falling asleep.

The dreams didn't stop with her giving birth and she laid in bed, torn between giving into the exhaustion and the lurking dread of seeing what the new installment would bring.

It was always the same theme, her making her way through the trees, solid and unyielding, her voice calling her like a flame to a moth, and then the uncertainty of the clearing. She'd find her friends there, sitting in solemn silence as they all watched a crying Samuel, or it would be Emily pale and lifeless, the way she'd last seen her. Once she saw the figure of her mother, the dark brown locks cascading down her back and she reached out to her, holding her breath as she turned around only to be faced with her own reflection, tired and exhausted.

It had gotten to the point where she was dreading falling asleep and she couldn't tell anymore if she was really dreaming these nightmares or she was just conjuring them in a state of delirious exhaustion.

Tristan watched her with a worried expression, often waking her when she was tossing restlessly, whispering a calming mantra into her ear as she sobbed in exhaustion.

* * *

Her waking hours revolved around Samuel. He was a marvel and she would spend hours watching him, amazed by the way his face, his demeanor seemed to change by the day. She could practically see him grow and change from hour to hour and she felt the incredible weight of responsibility. She could hardly stand being in another room as him, even as she often felt helpless trying to figure out what he needed.

Stella helped, coming over often. She seemed to have an innate sense about what the baby might need, always knowing when to change diapers, when to burp him, how to hold him to make him fall asleep more easily.

Spinner showed up when he was back in town and he and Tristan would sit out on the back porch, the baby bundled up in Spinner's arms as they would talk and watch the spring weather bring the garden to life.

"How are you doing, hot momma?" Spinner would nudge her when Tristan would take the baby upstairs to change diapers.

"Better than I thought I would" she shrugged and he'd smile, pulling her into a hug.

"It's good to see him happy" he'd whisper.

"You don't think he's itching to go back?" she'd ask, her voice unable to mask her worry.

"Why would he? He's got everything he needs right here" he said.

Charlotte came to visit as well, Danny begrudgingly admitting Sam was cute, despite him not being a girl. Charlotte was like a regular fairy godmother, moving through the house and leaving spotless order in her wake. She watched as Rory nursed the baby, humming gently to herself and smiling and Rory felt like the house succumbed to an indisturbable peace when she was around.

Jimmy showed up every chance he got, coming in from the city with joyous wonder etched on his face.

"I can't fucking believe it" he'd whisper, watching Rory hold the baby in her arms and she'd roll her eyes.

He took so many photos of Samuel they could fill several albums by the time he was barely a month old.

She realized that even though she had never thought she'd ever be ready for the task, she was coping, with a village around her to help out. She became more at ease with daily chores and they got into a rhythm that felt natural. It was hard to remember what life was like before Samuel came and rearranged everything.

* * *

She had changed diapers twice within an hour and Samuel seemed to be more fussy than usual.

She caressed his stomach, the baby kicking under her hand and his face only momentarily distracted from the frown that preceded the wailing.

She lifted him cooing to him as she rocked him against her.

She listened to the noises coming from the garden, or rather the lack thereof. Tristan had been out there for hours now, chopping wood, slowly working through the branches he'd cut a month prior and then let dry.

He was meticulous with his yard work, even more so since he had been off active duty and she gave him the space whenever he dedicated himself to a task, sensing that it was somehow therapeutic.

She listened and she was sure she hadn't heard the strike of the ax for minutes now.

She took the baby, still not asleep, but not crying either, and she descended the stairs, heading toward the kitchen where she could look out into the yard.

She saw Tristan, his face glistening with sweat, the ax hanging from his hand and resting on the ground as he listened to the man standing in front of him intently.

Rory squinted, trying to identify the man and she gasped realizing it was Jake.

He looked different, his hair disheveled, his face covered with a beard, his eyes worn and tired and he was speaking to Tristan, his face contorted, his speech seemingly intense.

Tristan frowned, his eyes dropping to the ground as he shook his head slightly and Rory watched with her breath held as Jake shoved him and gestured toward the house with a violent air.

She held the baby closer to her, not understanding the scene in front of her.

She watched as Jake finished his speech, spitting out words towards Tristan who seemed to be frozen, only his chest moving with labored breaths. Jake shook his head and suddenly turned, his steps angry and determined as he walked towards the side door of the garden.

The scene was absurd and she shook her head, wondering if she was drifting in one of her dreams. She heard Samuel's cry, warm and moving in her arm, the dread inside her too real to be conjured.

She looked back up, seeing Tristan frozen still, his head hanging. After a couple of seconds, he turned back and launched back into the task previously abandoned, the ax striking down with aggressive energy and Rory flinched as she heard the wood splinter from the impact.

She watched for long minutes before gathering the courage to go outside and approach him, Samuel held tightly in her arms as he squirmed and cried.

He turned, hearing the wailing coming from the bundle Rory was carrying, his eyes wild and his face uncharacteristically troubled.

"He's so inconsolable" she murmured, her eyes searching his face as he averted his eyes, focusing on the baby instead. His whole body was vibrating with a nervous energy and she was distracted by his face, so alarmingly full of emotions: worry, despair and angst.

"I think he wants you" she added, handing him the baby, desperately wanting to ground him, to make him calm down.

"I'm sweaty" he protested, but dropped the ax, taking the bundle, nestling him against his shoulder as he gently rocked him. She saw his face lighten infinitesimally, but she couldn't shake the cold dread creeping up her body.

"Is everything okay?" she asked and Tristan's eyes flashed to hers, his gaze searching, the turmoil once again evident on his face.

"I saw Jake out here" she added, her breath held as she was bracing herself for whatever was making him unravel so obviously.

"He…" he said, his eyes clouding over as he trailed off.

She watched him with brows furrowed.

He looked up at her, his eyes shining with an eternal sadness.

"Spinner's dead" he said, his voice calm, quiet and she felt her heart stop, the earth shifting beneath her feet. The words tore through her, cold and devastating and she heard herself gasp. She felt a strange numbness in her legs, like she was not able to control them and thought she might fall to the ground, the horror his words have unleashed threatening to overtake her.

She focused on his eyes, eternally sad, but calming slowly and his hand holding their son as gently as ever, as his face became unreadable, the myriad of emotions passing through it just moments ago suddenly disappearing. She focused on his face, slowly becoming statue like. It was the only thing that helped ground her, her racing heart beating wildly in her chest as her eyes filled with tears. She tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat and opened her mouth to speak.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice frail, feeling the tears stream down her face.

Tristan took a shaky breath, the only remaining sign that he was affected, his body otherwise cool and calm.

"They were on a mission near Islamabad" he said, voice hoarse, his eyes drifting to the ground.

He didn't say more, and she watched with quiet terror as he continued to rock the baby, his face calm, but still weary.

She was crying now, the hiccups in between sobs raking her body, her hands flexing into fists as she felt the world spin around her.

"I'm sorry" she mouthed but no sound actually came out.

She wanted to hug him, let him hug her, she wanted to fall to the ground and let the deep despair take over her, but she saw his form, tense and stable as a rock, holding onto Samuel with steady arms, his body slowly reigned into calmness, into submission, into the stoic structure of steel and will and control that he was and she concentrated on that visible change, that immense power of will instead of the despair gaping like a giant whole in her soul.

"I think he's asleep" he said handing him back to Rory, his fingers shaking lightly as he slid the relaxed baby into her arms. "I should take a shower."

She watched as he took the ax from the ground, the heavy object hanging from his arm like a broken limb, his steps slow but sure as he started walking towards the house.

"Why was he so angry with you?" she asked and he stopped, sighing.

He turned around slowly, focusing on Rory's face and she knew all of her emotions, her dread, her sorrow, her fear, were etched on there for him to see.

"He's just lashing out" he said, his voice worn, his eyes focused on Samuel in her arms.

"It's not your fault" she said and he took a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on the baby.

"I know" his eyes looked clouded over. "Bring him inside, it's getting chilly."

* * *

The house settled with a quiet and heavy silence, a feeling that felt all too familiar and she recognized it as grief. She felt it stir in the rooms as she walked, slowly seeping into the walls, the floor, the trees in the garden and she watched in horror as her life, her delicately balanced sanity was circled by feelings kept at bay for so long. She wondered if Samuel could feel the grief, if his small, innocent body felt the weight of the burden settling around him. She wondered if it would alter him, become one with him, turning him into what was perhaps always his legacy to become.

Tristan was unfaltering, solemn and strong, but she could see the struggle even as she could not imagine the pain he was feeling. She watched him with a constant worry fluttering in her chest.

Spinner had been his oldest friend, she knew, and she recalled the picture of them, Tristan, Daniel and Spinner in the desert, so young and naïve, seemingly untouchable, now all of them gone or altered forever by losses that were indescribable.

She wished to be able to share his burden, to ease his mind, but she found no door to the inner chambers of his mind, no opening that would unlock his thoughts.

He moved through the house like a ghost, doing chores and tasks constantly, getting up to tend to Samuel before she even heard him cry, as if he weren't sleeping at all.

She heard him come back into the room after rocking the baby back to sleep and she held her breath listening to him move through the room quietly. She felt the mattress shift slowly under his weight as he sat down on the side, his eyes staring into the distance. She opened her eyes, focusing on his unmoving form. He let out a long, shuddering breath and the sound broke her heart.

She reached out, her hand caressing his back and he turned around with a sudden jolt, his breathing quick.

Their eyes met in the darkness of the room and she saw such turmoil, so much hurt in his, that she couldn't help but frown.

"Come here" she whispered, and he moved, as if against his own volition, his body falling heavily against hers. She pulled him to herself and she felt his arms snake around her, his head buried into her chest as he breathed in her scent.

"It's okay" she whispered and she heard a broken sob coming from him, a sound so foreign to her ears she felt a flash of fear inside her chest. She willed herself to calm down, to make her breathing slow, her heartbeat steady and her voice soft, her hands going to his hair to caress him as she continued to talk to him in a soothing tone. He cried into her embrace for a long time before sleep finally found him.


	32. Except be in love

Author's note: Aw, my first "How could you do this?" review for this story! It brings back memories, hehe. Thank you all for reading and thank you for every review, I love reading them!

jordana60: wow, that felt really good to read, thank you!

.mack: no, I am not. I just, in the words of Tristan, "google shit in my spare time".

Alright, here we go. Obviously this one is going to be light and fun...

* * *

She watched the rows of white slabs of marble and she closed her eyes, quieting the anxiety in her mind. These rows, the pattern, they took on another meaning ever since she married him, ever since she let herself be truly and really be worried for him. She dreamed of them sometimes, the headstones an infinite reminder of the constant dread.

She took a deep breath, feeling Samuel's quiet rhythm of breathing as he slept, soundly in her arms. She'd fed him before, hoping he would sleep through the whole ordeal. She'd contemplated the option of leaving him behind, but anyone who she could possibly ask to watch him was here, standing right next to her waiting for the memorial service to begin.

She glanced to her right, feeling Stella give her a quiet nod, and then to her left, Charlotte, as beautiful as ever, standing like a statue. She watched in wonder as Matthew stood next to her, the little boy in her memories replaced by a tall, lanky teenager that looked so much like his dad in the pictures she remembered seeing in Charlotte's home.

To be honest, she was happy to have Samuel in her arms. The thought of attending a funeral, the thought of once again burying someone she loved, trusted and worried for, in the cold, unwelcoming ground, left her nauseous, her legs week and her mind aching. But Samuel, with his warmth and weight, snuggled in her arms was something that seemed to center her, distract her, consume her. She focused on him breathing, focused on him stirring gently, focused on his small body, the wonder that it was, instead of the world screaming at her about another loss she had to endure.

Her eyes moved to the rows of men, dressed in dress blues, their expression solemn, unmoving.

She studied Tristan. His face was a statue of calm, his body tense with a quite resolve, but his eyes, the shining blue orbs gave him away. She saw the pain, the struggle, the guilt and it left her feeling uneasy, the anxiety settling as a steady burn in the back of her throat.

He had been a shell of a man, since that they Jake had come over, the altercation still mysterious to her. They never talked about it and the only time he had really left himself go was the night he had cried in her embrace. She knew it didn't release his mind, knew he hadn't been sleeping, spending hours in Samuel's room, pretending to tend to him even if the baby was sleeping for hours on end. She wasn't one to judge, what with her own nightmares reignited by Spinner's passing. Between the three of them, Samuel seemed to be the only one with the ability to sleep calmly. Tristan and Rory however, they were like two predators, circling each other deep in the forest, two insomniacs avoiding admitting to each other that dreams were a place of dread and fear and what she figured, constant state of guilt for him.

She saw him drift into thoughts often, his face troubled and she knew, she knew he was replaying whatever happened to his crew, whatever happened to Spinner in his head, analyzing, thinking, imagining.

Now, as she stood staring at him in his uniform of grief, she recalled the conversation when she had finally worked up the courage to ask him about it, the two of them laying close to each other in their bed in the quiet of the morning, her rocking a freshly fed Samuel back into sleep.

"How did he die?" she had asked and there had been a moment of hesitation on his face, his fingers caressing the soft hair on the top of Samuel's head.

"An ambush" he had breathed out the word and it had dissolved into the spring morning air filling their bedroom.

"Have you been ambushed?" she had whispered her question and his eyes had landed on hers, pale blue and devastating.

"Yes" he had said, his face showing no emotion.

She remembered how he had studied her, how she somehow had felt like she had to control her features as though this had been an important test.

"What do you do when you're ambushed?" she had asked, making her voice unwavering.

"You stay calm. Stick with the basics. You can't think your way out of that" he had replied slowly, his voice almost amused.

"Then how do you get out?" she had asked, fear gripping her chest.

He had glanced back at her, his eyes still cold.

"You make your way out" he had said, refocusing his eyes on Samuel once again.

She shivered as she recalled the words, her eyes once again traveling through the figures of these men standing before the casket covered with the flag. The officiator finished his prayer, there was a silence and she remembered what Tristan told him about the ceremony. There were seven riflemen, now raising their rifles in quiet unison.

She pulled the baby close, bracing herself for the gunfire. The shots rang out, three sets of them and the bundle in her arms barely stirred.

She let out a breath, relieved.

"Looks like that one can actually sleep through cannon fire" Stella murmured under her breath.

"It baffles me more than it baffles you" she replied.

The sound of the taps, played by the military bugler drew her attention back and she watched, her throat constricting with tears as someone folded the flag.

She'd seen this before, on TV, in movies, but somehow, the weight of it all was so much larger now as she stood here, watching the ceremony for someone she knew.

Spinner was someone that lived and breathed this life, fought for this one goal and then died for it, someone that, it seemed to her, was almost predestined for this moment, judged by the silent acceptance of the few people standing around his grave site with quiet contemplation. She watched the old couple, supporting each other as they stood closest to the casket, the face of the lady in black solemn, but reserved. She only released a sob, when the folded up flag was handed to her and Rory felt a tear run down her own cheek as the sound registered in her brain.

There was movement now, the men in Tristan's squad lining slowly up to offer condolences to the couple.

"You okay?" she heard Stella ask and she glanced towards her friend who was watching her intently.

"Yeah" she nodded. "Tristan's not talking about it, but I can tell he feels like it's his fault" she said as she glanced at Stella. Her friend averted her eyes, focusing on rearranging Samuel's hat.

"That's ridiculous" she murmured.

"I think Jake thinks that too" Rory said, willing her friend to meet her eyes. When she finally did, reluctantly, the lack of surprise there told her she was right for assuming.

"Well, Jake is a dumbass" Stella said, inhaling a deep breath.

"Does he blame Tristan for being on leave?" she asked, glancing towards the men. Tristan was the last one in line to offer condolences, the other men standing before him.

"Look, they adore him, they trust him, they feel a little lost with the temp and this mission certainly didn't go smoothly for them. But it's not Tristan's fault and not your fault. He should be home with you. You have a newborn" Stella said, squeezing her arm.

"You ready?" they heard and they both looked up to see Jake approach them. Rory noted that he didn't look at her.

"Sure" Stella said, squeezing Rory's arm once more. "I'll see you at the wake."

She said goodbye to them and turned her attention back to Spinner's parents. Charlotte had just offered her condolences and walked towards Rory.

She smiled as she came to stand next to her.

"Look at this gorgeous boy" she cooed, peeking into Samuel's swaddle.

"You wanna hold him while I go over there?" Rory asked smiling as Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

She watched as she took the baby and wondered if she'll ever look as natural rearranging him in her arms.

She walked over to the parents, shaking their hands and offering her condolences. Her eyes met the mother's gaze and she thought she might faint, seeing the deep pain in those hazy eyes.

She felt an urge to return to Samuel, to hold him close, to know he was safe and sound. When she returned to Charlotte, she settled for the next best thing and watched as her friend held the baby with a genuine smile.

"Oh my, that smell!" Charlotte laughed, "I miss that smell."

Rory couldn't help her own smile.

"Daniel is so big now, he won't even hold my hand on the street" Charlotte said.

"I can't believe he's 5 already" she mused.

"How are you enjoying motherhood?" Charlotte asked with a bittersweet smile.

"It's… an adjustment" Rory said.

"My mother always says 'Nothing will ever break your heart like your children'" Charlotte said and Rory felt the pang in her chest intensify. She was starting to understand that sentiment without really knowing why. She glanced at Charlotte's face and saw her own turmoil written there, her eyes focused in the distance. She followed her line of sight, coming to rest on Matthew shaking hands with Tristan who had finished with his condolences. They were standing off to the side and Matthew was telling Tristan something as Tristan listened with what looked like genuine surprise on his face.

"What's going on there?" Rory asked, an uneasy feeling in her chest as she glanced back at Charlotte.

"I guess he's telling Tristan about his decision to enlist after graduation."

Rory looked at Charlotte in shock. She glanced back at the young boy, barely anything more than a child in her head, even though she knew he was turning 18 next year. She thought about their conversation when he had run away and showed up at their house, thought about the boy's precocious stance on life, now suddenly all his actions making sense. She glanced back at his mother, her beautiful face laced with a quiet worry.

Charlotte looked at her and sighed.

"I guess I always knew this would happen."

She didn't know how to respond, whether to say she was sorry or to try to reassure her everything would be alright. There were no words that Charlotte needed to hear, so she just hugged her instead as Charlotte sighed again.

* * *

The wake was something she didn't realize would be hard, but when she saw the solemn people move through her home, all dressed in black, her heart raced and she felt like she couldn't breathe deep enough.

She held onto Samuel as if he were an armor.

"How are you doing?" Gina asked her, pulling her attention to her as she leaned in, readjusting Samuel's blanket around him.

Rory felt her heart constrict, seeing the sadness in her friend's eyes.

"It's good Tristan is here, I don't know how I'd manage without him" she said, trying to make her voice light.

"Well let's hope it was worth it. It only cost a life so far" she heard Jake's voice and she looked up in shock, seeing him, his eyes dark and angry, staring at her.

She felt the look chill her from the inside.

"Jake, chill the fuck out, man" Billy told him under his breath, turning his body to position himself in between her and Jake.

"What? We all fucking know it. How long did you stay home, Billy?" Jake looked at him, accusingly and Billy sighed.

"Outside" she heard Tristan's voice and she turned, seeing him standing behind her, his tone grave and his look menacing as he stood, his eyes set on Jake.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" she heard Jake fire back, the room becoming quiet as all attention was directed at the scene unfolding.

"Now, sergeant" Tristan replied, pointing towards the door and she watched in horror as Jake faltered at Tristan's words only momentarily. He took a breath, then moved towards the exit, with Tristan following him.

"Tristan" she called out to him as he walked passed her.

"Stay inside" he said, barely turning towards her, his eyes focusing on Jake.

She heard the front door open and then shut and the room became silent, her friends looking at her apologetically.

Billy and Vince shared a glance and then silently followed Dylan outside. She looked around in panic, Gina and Vicky glancing at each other with a worried look as Stella moved to the window.

She could hear them now, Jake's voice loud as he yelled.

"I have a right to ask, Knight. We all have a right to know. Do you think it was worth it? Holding her together? Do you think it was worth his life?" he yelled, his voice loud and flailing.

"Stand the fuck down, Jake, I mean it" she heard Tristan's response and she moved to the window, next to Stella to see.

The two of them were standing a couple of feet from each other, the other guys slowly surrounding Tristan as he held a hand out as if to signal them to stand back.

"We have the right to know! You have a responsibility! You can't just leave us behind in a middle of a fucking mission to save her from herself and you can't just abandon us and watch us fall apart when you are too worried she's going to lose it back here. You are responsible for us! You made a fucking commitment to us!" Jake spat at him, moving forward to shove Tristan.

He watched as Tristan stood without fighting back, the shove barely sending him a step back and she felt dread flood her body as she saw Jake's face become more intense.

She moved towards the foyer as Stella called out after her.

She opened the door, coming to stand outside on the porch, the guys too engrossed in Tristan and Jake's altercation.

"I'm sorry" she heard Tristan say quietly, but the admission only seemed to fuel Jake's furry. He launched forward.

"You're sorry? Is she worth it? Is this all worth it?" he asked as he threw himself at Tristan.

Billy and Dylan launched towards him instantly, catching him before he could reach Tristan who stood unmoving even as he expected Jake's attack.

"Fuck you" Jake spat at the guys holding him back, his face angry and his body tensing.

"Calm the hell down" Vince told him, positioning himself in between him and Tristan.

Jake backed away, shaking Dylan and Billy's hands off of him.

"Let me the fuck go. Go on protecting him, he won't fucking protect you, he has only one authority to serve in his life" he said, his eyes intense and cynical as he pointed towards Rory standing on the porch.

Rory felt the guys' eyes turn to her as she watched Jake shake his head and turn around, walking towards the street.

She turned around, her feelings wrecking a havoc inside herself. She went back into the house, handing Samuel to a gaping Gina. She walked through the house, the air feeling too stuffy and warm and she raced towards the back porch, exiting the house again, walking down to the garden, letting the quiet there surround her.

She paced up and down, her chest heaving as Jake's words echoed inside her head.

"Rory, look at me. Please" she heard his voice, quiet, calm.

She turned around to see him standing a mere foot from her, his face troubled, his eyes shining with a deep sorrow.

"Is that what they think? Is that what they all think? That you're here to keep me together?" she asked, her voice hysterical.

He continued to stand, his face solemn as he inhaled deeply.

"What does it matter?" he asked with a mirthless smile.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, her voice faltering, her eyes studying his face.

"No" he said, blinking slowly as he shook his head.

She looked at him, not believing.

"You're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for" he said quietly.

"They think it's my fault…and they're right, aren't they?" she gestured towards the house.

"Rory. Do you think it was my fault?" he asked, his face flashing with hurt.

She looked back at him, seeing the guilt there, his eyes weary and tired and she faltered, her intense emotions calming instantly as she understood his question.

"No. Of course not" she said, shaking her head.

"Then how can you possibly think it's yours?" he asked, his tone calm, calculated.

She took a deep breath, seeing his reasoning, but somehow not reassured.

"It's no one's fault. Not mine, not Jake's and certainly not yours. But we gotta bear the weight together."

She shook her head, her arms hugging herself in a feeble attempt to keep herself together.

"I don't know if I'm able to do that. I'm not like you" she whispered.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice matching hers.

"Strong" she said, choking back a sob.

"Am I?" he asked, his words calm as his eyes burrowed into hers. "Strong?"

She shook her head, furrowing her brows as if not understanding.

"You withstand everything without a flinch" she said, releasing a shuddering breath. "I look at you and you are this concrete statue."

He took a step closer to her and she looked up, his eyes mirroring her hurt.

"People see what I let them see. That doesn't make me stronger than you. I can see every single emotion on your face" he said, smiling as he reached out, tracing her face and she closed her eyes, frowning.

"It doesn't make you weaker. It just makes you beautiful" he whispered.

She shook her head, her fingers twisting into fists as she looked down on the ground, then squeezed her eyes shut again, willing to stop the tears.

"Rory" he said and she opened her eyes, focusing on him as if she had no will to deny him.

"It doesn't matter if they think I'm the one holding you together. You and I, we know that's not the truth" he whispered.

She exhaled an exhausted breath.

"What is the truth?"

A small smile crossed his face, a bittersweet, honest smile.

"I'm not holding you together. It's the other way around" he said, his pale blue eyes piercing her.

She let out a small sob, shaking her head lightly and he stepped closer to her, his arms going around her.

"How do you not see that?" he whispered, his lips kissing the top of her head as he pulled her into his hold.

She let another sob escape her as she considered his words, felt his hands, trembling softly against her sides. She felt the way he was clutching her, heard his racing heartbeat, and she wondered if he was telling the truth. She recalled his reluctance to first visit Charlotte, his face when he came back after going back to work, the way he looked at her in the hospital in Mexico, his eyes on her in the isolation chamber, the way he yielded to her when she got pregnant, the way his face calmed to his statue like expression as his eyes focused on her, always her.

"I'm not sure I'd still be alive without you" he whispered, barely audible and she squeezed him tightly against herself.

"Now, I.. can do a lot" he said, his words quiet as he whispered them into her hair. "I can rebuild my body and I can focus my mind, I can handle Jake and the rest of them, because it's my job to, but you… you gotta keep me together. And I need you to know you do" he said, his face twisting into a frown as she pulled herself from his hold to look up at him.

She studied his face, stern as he fought the frown plastered there, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. His eyes met hers again and she watched as his face calmed, now finally seeing it was her that did that to him.

"I'll go back, when it's time to go back. It won't be because I feel guilt, it will be because I'm ready to. Okay?" he said, his voice becoming calm, steady, his hand reaching out to take hers.

She stared at him, replaying his words in her head.

"Okay?" he asked again and she looked into his eyes, so focused, so sure, so calm.

She nodded.

"Okay."

* * *

Time had no regard for their grief, their life overwhelmed by the changes too large to grasp and Rory felt like she was living on a moving ship, holding on for dear life. There was hardly any time to settle into a new normal and she wondered where the days had gone. She started back at work part time, although she mostly worked from home, only going in on the two days when she was teaching a class, grateful that Stella volunteered to watch over Samuel while she did. Tristan went to the base every day, doing what she imagined was training and administration. They rarely met up with his crew, the events of the wake making everyone uncomfortable, but Rory knew he talked to them all the time. She could feel the tension, Jake an invisible but ever present figure, always influencing his mood. She saw the same weariness in Stella, her friend distracted and anxious no matter if her husband was home or away.

"Is Jake okay?" she asked one time when she and Stella were alone in her kitchen and she saw Stella tense.

"I don't know what's okay anymore. He's quiet. Or loud. But always angry" she sighed, her face suddenly looking tired.

"At Tristan? Or me?" she asked and Stella smiled a wry smile.

"That was… it was stupid, Rory. He's angry at him and you and me. At everyone. He's angry at the world, but mostly I think he's angry at himself" her friend said, her eyes sad.

"Why? Did he tell you… Do you know what happened? When Spinner died?" Rory asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Her friend glanced at her, her brown eyes weary.

"I don't know. He won't ever talk about it. But I think they were ambushed. And they were separated from the rest and he saw him being shot. I think he tried to… save him…like Tristan did with him, but…" Stella drifted off, not able to finish her thoughts.

"Hey, it's okay" Rory said, stepping closer to her friend.

"I don't know what to do, Rory" Stella looked at her, her face showing despair, her voice breaking.

"I know" she said, pulling her into a hug.

"I want to tell him to fucking quit. I want to tell him to stop. I want to scream at him that he has two kids at home, but… the truth is, I want him back, you know? What good is it to have him here if he's not himself?" she cried into her embrace, her breath feeling hot against her shoulder.

"I know" she sighed, her arms clasping her friend tightly as she cried.


	33. All I do is miss

Author's note: You are all awesome for reading, thank you so much for letting me know what you thought. The thought of someone waiting for updates and getting emotional when reading just blows my mind.

Brittany Kirkman, wow, so I lured you out of the shadows, that is amazing! Thank you so much.

kimarmot, don't worry, it does have an ending and it's actually not that far off ;)

Okay, so if you thought the last one wasn't light and fun, then this one is definitely not rainbows and kittens either. Love you though!

* * *

She stood in front of the house that had become familiar to her, clutching Samuel to her chest and the phone to her ear.

"I'm coming inside" she whispered, her body on edge, alert.

"No, just wait for Tristan, please" she heard Stella whisper, her voice pleading.

She gasped as she heard another loud noise coming from the house, a crash of some sort and she heard Stella's startle and the kids whimpering over the line. Stella hushed the children and Rory felt her heart constrict as she looked down at Samuel.

"How could this have happened?" Rory asked in vain, as she paced the driveway of Stella and Jake's house. "Is he… has he been drinking?"

The question was tentative, disbelieving and she half expected the denial to come swiftly over the line.

"He doesn't… I… I don't know. I didn't think he was drinking, but… I can't explain it…" Stella cried over the phone, but another crash broke her off.

Rory jumped and took a deep breath trying to calm her nerves.

She heard the car then, with tires screeching and she turned back to see Tristan pull up curbside in a truck, getting out of the car with determined steps.

"What are you doing here Rory, I told you to go home" he said, walking up to her, his face so serious she felt her breath falter.

"I couldn't leave them with him, what if he hurts them?" she asked, holding Samuel close to her chest.

"He's not going to hurt them" he replied but was distracted by another loud crash and cursing from the house. They both looked towards the place, seemingly peaceful, but still the site of something mortifying they couldn't quite grasp.

"Rory, please get in the car" Tristan said without looking at her. "Tell Stella to get ready to come downstairs. When they come outside, drive them to our place. After that, call 911 and say it's a possible mental health crisis" he said, his voice a collection of soft orders that seemed to calm her nerves.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, biting her lip.

That one question and the moment of hesitation in his eyes was enough to undo any calming effect she might have experienced listening to him list things to do like a checklist.

"I'm going inside" he said turning back towards her.

"Tristan, Stella said he has a gun" Rory protested.

He nodded, his face unnervingly calm.

"Don't worry about it, just do what I told you. Please" he said and Rory took a deep breath ready to fight him.

"Please" he repeated, glancing at Samuel and caressing the sleeping baby's head.

She was suddenly reminded of the baby, making soft gurgling noises as she held him and she felt the dread intensify, an incredible urge to obey Tristan rising inside her.

She released the breath she was holding, shaking her head.

"Please, be careful" she whispered and he nodded, turning to walk towards the house.

She watched with heart racing and she heard Stella's frantic whispering from her cell.

She lifted the phone to her ear.

"Stella? Tristan's here, he's going in, he told you to be ready to make your way downstairs when he tells you to" she said, repeating Tristan's words as she tried to make her voice strong and steady.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Rory, why is this happening?" Stella whispered, obviously close to falling apart.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her beating heart.

"Everything is going to be alright, okay?" she said, her voice not sounding convincing enough to herself.

She watched the house as Tristan entered it, a loud crash and yelling following and she gasped.

"Stella, I'm hanging up to call 911, I'll call you right back, okay?" she said, hanging up before her friend could answer.

She dialed the number, trying to keep her voice calm as she resumed her pacing, her eyes glued to the house.

She gave the information to the operator, using the phrase Tristan told her to and she was reminded of the other time she was following his instructions to do the same. She remembered how calm he was, how efficient, how good, that day in the subway against that drunken lunatic, but she also knew it was one of his own he was facing now, someone more resourceful and trained, someone who had obviously been through a lot. She thought of all the research she did about PTSD back when she had met Tristan and thought about the astonishing fact that nothing he had gone through, nothing he had to endure unhinged him.

She thought about Jake though, thought about him getting shot, thought about his frustration with physiotherapy and Stella's excuses for him. She remembered when he had come to tell Tristan about Spinner's death and she recalled his emotionless stare at her and Tristan at the funeral, his violent emotional explosion at the wake. She was cursing herself, wondering why she hadn't noticed the signs so clearly there. She scolded herself for being too consumed by hurt, feeling sorry for herself rather than seeing Jake's lashing out for what it was. She wondered how long they had been missing signs, if they should have known what all this was spiraling towards. And then she wondered if Stella, being the incredibly warm and supportive person she was, had known, but failed to grasp the seriousness of the problem, failed to be able to ask for help. She felt for her friend, fighting some invisible force while trying to keep the semblance of normalcy for her children, for her friend, for everybody counting on her.

She redialed Stella's number and sighed relieved when she picked up on the first ring.

"What's going on?" she asked, whispering, even though there really was no reason for her to.

"They are talking. I can hear Tristan trying to calm him down" Stella whispered.

"Are you ready to leave if he gives you the go ahead?" she asked.

"Yeah" she said, her voice breaking. "Rory, I'm scared. He's a good man, but he's… he's not himself."

The words, so broken and so disbelieving, gave her a chill. She thought of Donna and her sudden outburst on their camping trip, she thought of Tristan asking her if she was afraid of him, all the snippets of memories rearranging in her head and she wondered if her, and Stella and all the other wives were just playing with fire.

"I know, Stella, everything is going to be fine" she said, trying to convince herself as much as her.

"I think he's coming, I'm hanging up" Stella said and Rory heard the line go dead.

She held her breath as she watched the house, her thoughts racing each other in her head on a loop.

A minute passed before she heard the door open, Stella emerging, carrying Peter while she held onto Sarah's hand. The children were crying and Rory felt tears beginning to well in her eyes as she reached out towards them, her eyes desperately trailed on the door behind them as if she were expecting the worst.

She watched as Stella ran towards her, crying as she enveloped her into a one armed hug, holding onto Samuel with the other hand.

"It's okay, it's okay" she whispered, trying to reassure her friend, her voice bordering on hysterical.

"Stella!" they flinched as they heard the loud call and they both turned gasping. Jake was outside, his face contorted, his eyes bloodshot, a Glock in his right hand.

"That's enough, Jake" Tristan emerged from behind him, quickly moving forward to positioned himself between Jake and the girls as Jake stumbled back, disoriented. He didn't look like himself, Rory noted, his hair disheveled, his face pale, his eyes troubled.

"Rory, get in the car" she heard Tristan yell at her, but her legs were frozen to the ground.

"No" Jake said, lifting the gun as he loaded it with a quick movement, pointing it at Tristan.

Rory felt her heart stop, Stella clutching her arm as they both stood, transfixed.

"Jake," Tristan said, his voice calm, "listen to me, I got you okay? Remembered what we talked about?"

"I can't lose them, Knight" Jake said, his tears streaming down his face, his body swaying slightly as he held his hand still, aimed at Tristan.

"You're not going to lose them" Tristan said, his voice steady.

"They find me here with a gun and I'm done. I lose them. I lose Delta. I lose everything" he said.

"That's not gonna happen, because they're not gonna find you here with a gun, Jake" Tristan said, a hand reaching out towards him. "You're going to give it to me, like we decided."

Jake shook his head, a fresh set of tears falling from his eyes as he groaned.

"What's the point?" he asked, his voice a wailing cry. "I'm playing fucking Russian roulette. I thought I had it locked down, Knight. I thought I could stay fucking cool and calm… but all it took was a fucking ambush and for you not to be there to ground us" he said, his tone accusing and desperate at the same time.

"It was a shitty situation Jake, you did your best" Tristan said, shaking his head.

"My best isn't good enough, Knight! It's never good enough. It's not good enough here and it's not good enough there and I don't fucking know what else I'm supposed to do with my life" Jake cried again, his arm holding the gun swaying lightly as he gestured.

Rory let out a strangled breath as her eyes followed the erratic movement of the gun, still aimed at Tristan.

"We'll figure it out Jake, but you need to be smart now. If you wanna get out, you'll get out" Tristan said, his voice quiet, soothing.

"I can't get out. You know I can't get out, because I can't fucking do anything else. But if I stay there I'm gonna end up like Spinner. I can't fucking win" Jake cried, his tone desperate.

"Jake" Tristan said, both hands raised now. "We'll figure it out, okay? I got you. I promised and just because I'm not there right now, it doesn't mean I don't have your back. We'll find a way. But if you don't give me that gun right now, we'll never have the chance to."

He reached out his hand slowly, inching towards the gun and Rory saw Jake's eyes narrow as he regarded his outstretched hand.

Rory heard the sirens in the distance and she felt a new pang of anxiety, the seconds ticking by as she watched the scene with the gun pointed at Tristan.

"I got you" Tristan whispered as he took a step towards Jake, Stella letting out a horrified whimper as she watched.

Rory stared, her breath held as he took another step, Jake's arm with the gun slowly lowering. Tristan stepped forward, taking the gun from his hand and unfastening it, then placing it in the back of his waistband just as the ambulance pulled up.

Rory watched as Tristan pulled Jake close, whispering into his ear. Jake listened without any reaction, his eyes becoming hooded as his gaze drifted off into the distance, his body seemingly becoming frail and small. Tristan kept an arm around him and Jake slowly sunk to the ground, sitting down, with his hands in his lap.

"Is everybody okay?" the paramedic yelled as the women looked on, still shell-shocked.

"We're all good" Tristan replied, voice as calm as ever. "Jake here is a little distraught. He's going to voluntarily go to Walter Reed."

Rory watched as the paramedics approached Jake, who was almost catatonic, letting them assess him and place a line into his arm.

"Is he a serviceman?" the paramedic asked, glancing at Tristan.

"Yeah" Tristan nodded.

"Was he aggressive?" the paramedic asked.

"No" Tristan replied glancing up at Rory and Stella, still standing there.

He patted Jake's shoulder and whispered something to him, then walked up to Rory and Stella, his arms going around their backs as he guided them towards Rory's car with gentle force.

"I should go with him" Stella cried, glancing back as Tristan tried to move her along.

"No, I got him, get in the car" he whispered.

"Knight" she pleaded, stopping in her tracks.

"Stella, please. Go home with Rory, take the children. I got him, okay?" he said turning to her, his tone softer as he spoke slowly, looking into Stella's eyes.

Rory watched as Stella's face calmed infinitesimally before she nodded, obeying Tristan and guiding Peter and Sarah into the back seat.

Rory put Samuel into the child seat and sat into the driver's seat, her fingers shaking as she buckled herself.

Tristan motioned for her to roll the window down and she did, trying to calm her breathing.

"Drive slowly, please" he whispered, ducking into the car to kiss Rory swiftly on the mouth.

She felt his hand in her lap and she looked down as he withdrew, the gun laying heavily in her lap.

She looked up in shock to see him looking at her with a mix of worry and apology.

"I can't take it to the hospital" he whispered, before turning back to the house.

Rory felt frozen and watched as Stella took the gun from her lap, shutting it into the glove compartment.

"Let's go" Stella said, her voice surprisingly steady. "We're following command."

Rory nodded, starting the car.

* * *

It was 3 am when he got home, opening the door gently and walking into the kitchen, seeing her there.

"Why are you up?" he asked, his face tired, but calm.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice small.

"He's fine. They admitted him to the psych ward. They have him sedated" he said, his face tensing as his eyes studied her.

She wondered if all her feelings, all her unease were plastered on her face. She thought of the past hours she spent, trying to make the children calm down, with Stella stunned and visibly shaken as they fed and bathed them.

"What happened?" she asked and he held her gaze without answering. She knew what that meant, loyalty and rationale battling in his head, like always.

"They think it's a psychotic break" he said softly.

"Jesus" she inhaled sharply and she felt Tristan's eyes flash as though he was upset by her reaction.

"What does this mean?" she asked, her voice getting unnerved.

"I don't know, Rory" he replied, his voice strained as he moved to the cabinets, taking a glass and silently filling it from the tap.

"Tristan, you hid that gun, so he wouldn't be charged" she said speaking to his profile as he drank the content of the glass.

"Yes" he said after swallowing, looking out through the window to the back garden, even though the darkness hid it.

"Because that would mean he wouldn't be able to keep working for Delta" she went on, her voice shaking.

"Yes" he said, taking a deep breath, eyes still focused outside.

"He can't go back to work like that" she said, half pleading, half accusing.

"He isn't going back to work like that" he said, turning to her, his face irritated.

"I meant ever" she said and he looked at her silently, his face becoming serious.

"Let's not worry about this right now" he said, slowly, as if he were trying to persuade her. It made her irrationally angry.

"What if something like this happens when you're on a mission?" she asked, not backing down. "That would endanger you too. It would endanger your whole crew" she said, a finger pointing to his chest.

"Rory. This isn't your burden, okay?" he said, voice strained.

"You think? Because I got my best friend and her two kids crying themselves to sleep in our bedroom upstairs and I got a husband that I might lose because the army doesn't fucking recognize if one of their top soldiers is stark raving crazy" she shot back, her voice raised and she saw Tristan glance towards the stairs.

"Calm down" he said, stressing the words.

"Tristan" she pleaded.

He placed the used glass on the dryer and stepped towards her, his arms grasping her arms.

"Rory. I need you to fucking keep it together" he said and she inhaled sharply, taken aback by the emotion in his voice.

"I know this is scary. I'm scared too. But he is our friend. Stella is our friend. They are family. We keep it the fuck together for them and we're all just gonna take it one day at a fucking time. We are not going to worry about him being back at work or me being back at work, because that's not today's problem. Today, we let the god damn hospital try to help him. Today, we keep it the fuck together for all of them. And eventually? If down the line, he decides he wants to go back? We're gonna fucking support him in that too. If he wants it? We give him another chance. Like I was given another chance. Okay?" he said, his eyes intent on hers.

There was reason in his words, compassion and loyalty, laced with his quiet reassurance. She knew all of that and knew this is why he was a leader and perhaps this is what the whole crew had been missing that faithful day that they had lost Spinner. But it didn't make it easier for her to accept.

"Tristan" she pleaded, but her voice was uncertain.

"I know. I know" he said, pulling her into a hug.

"What happens if they can't fix him?" she asked.

"I don't know" he whispered.

She sighed, relaxing into his hold, not having the strength to speak.

"It's gonna be okay" he whispered, pulling her even closer.

* * *

Stella and the kids stayed with them. Jake was kept in the hospital, but she could tell both the children and Stella felt safer away from their home. She didn't even need to address it with Tristan, he set the guest bedroom up for them without any discussion. Rory watched as Stella thanked him with tears in her eyes and he brushed her off, distracting the kids by building a fort for them out of pillows and blankets. He took Stella to the hospital every day after Rory and her got back from taking the kids to school.

She wondered if she should go with them, if she should visit, but whenever she thought of Jake, she couldn't see the happy, easygoing guy he knew, but rather the one lost in despair and anger. So she stayed back and asked Stella every day how she found him. She'd smile a bittersweet smile and say "A little better", while Tristan would avoid her eyes.

The three of them shared heavy tasks that didn't seem to be easier to bear just because they were all carrying it, but as an unspoken rule, the children had to be able to feel safe and unburdened. So they never talked about it in front of them and kept them occupied constantly. The house was full, loud and always noisy, but Rory didn't mind as the ruckus seemed to heal each battered soul residing under that one roof.

She realized it had only been six weeks since Samuel's birth, but so much had happened that it seemed like a lifetime.

She still felt uneasy leaving Samuel behind when she went to the university, but having Stella watch over him while she was away made her feel a lot calmer.

She was coming back one day, parking the car in the driveway as she froze seeing the familiar figure exit their house.

She waited as he descended the stairs, walking towards her with easy strides.

"Miss Gilmore. You're looking well" he nodded, his smooth face making her feel guarded.

She nodded in return and stood his studying gaze.

"I thought you prompting a special forces mission in Mexico would be the top of your abilities, but apparently, I underestimated you" the man said with a cynical tone and she glanced towards the house wondering what the conversation was like that transpired between this man and Tristan if he was the one coming to their home.

She wondered what he knew about Jake, what he thought about Tristan having been home for months now and she wondered if they thought it was her doing. His remark seemed to suggest he did.

"He makes his own decisions. If you wanna pin it on me, that's fine. But everything is out of his own free will" she said, lifting her chin in defiance.

He nodded.

"You wanna tell me what you think is going on with Jake Maxwell?" he said and Rory faltered, her eyes once again drifting to the house. She knew Tristan was loyal to Jake, but she couldn't imagine what he'd disclosed about his current state.

"Your husband seems to think he needs a break, that you all need a break" the smooth faced man went on, his gaze intent on Rory.

"You usually trust his decisions, don't you?" she replied, her tone challenging.

The man blinked in surprise.

"Usually" he said, his voice cautious.

"If that's what he thinks, that's probably the best way to get your top team back, isn't it?" she said, her eyes focused on the man.

They stood, staring at each other for a long beat before he shook his head with an amused smile and sidestepped her.

"All right" he murmured. "But just so you know, I'm on all of your side in all this, so how about I do my job and give them as much time as he thinks they need and you try your best and do yours?" he finished turning back to glance at her. "And I don't mean Georgetown."

She nodded turning to watch him walk down the driveway, not waiting for an answer.

"I can do that" she murmured and saw him nod in acknowledgement as he walked away.

She looked on, letting out a ragged breath as her body relaxed watching as the man got into a black car and swiftly drove off.

She walked up to the house, seeing Tristan through the living room window watching her with a worried expression. She sighed before dragging herself up the porch and through the front door.

"You okay?" he asked with a cautious tone, meeting her in the hallway.

"Yeah" she shrugged, forcing a smile on her face. "What was he doing here? Does he know about Jake?"

Tristan looked at her with a bittersweet smile.

"Of course they know," he sighed, "they're overseeing his treatment."

Rory nodded in understanding.

"He's back home" he added and Rory looked at him in surprise.

"What? It's only been a week. Is he okay to?" she asked, feeling a chill run down her back.

"Yeah, I got him home today with Stella. She's there with him. They have him on some medication and he's gonna have daily sessions at Walter Reed. They are happy with how he's doing" he said, giving her a small smile.

She nodded, worry gripping her chest.

"Are they… are they letting him back?" she asked.

"No one is talking about that yet" he said, glancing out towards the street.

"Do they want you back?" she asked, thinking of the conversation she had just had out on the driveway.

"No. I told them it's not an option. They're benching the whole crew until I get back. Until… everyone is ready. They want me to finish as much as I can at West Point. We'll do training here and then see if we're ready to go active again" he said, his face serious and she nodded, understanding the smooth face man's reaction.

"It's good they're willing to do that" she said, thankful but still uneasy. She remembered Tristan's words from before, and she couldn't help but be reminded that in the army, everything seemed to work with using up accumulated goodwill or having to pay old loans.

Tristan reached for her arms, caressing her to draw her attention back to him.

"How long is that going to take, you think?" she looked up at him, her tone unable to mask her worry.

He shrugged.

"We'll see" he said with an encouraging smile.

"How will you decide?" she asked.

"I don't think it's up to me to decide" he said, his smile still in place.

She looked at him, confused. She thought of the smooth face man's words again, thought of Tristan's words out in the garden after the wake.

"You take him upstairs. I'll get started on dinner" he nudged her, pointing her towards Samuel who was sitting in his chair.

"Tristan" she turned back to him and he looked at her, with patient anticipation. "I don't want you to feel like I expect you to act one way or another."

He cocked his head slightly.

"Why not?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again, surprised by his response.

"Rory, you should expect me to make the best decision. And Jake and Stella too. And Samuel" he said.

"And your bosses?" she asked with an eyebrow raised.

"My bosses too" he agreed with an easy shrug.

"That's a shitload of expectations" she said with a sigh.

"Yeah, but you got my six, right?" he said, smiling at her with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile.

"I do" she agreed.

"Then we'll figure it out."

* * *

She felt the exhaustion settling deep inside her body, something she recalled from before she'd met Tristan, when jet lag used to mix with regular insomnia. This time it was even worse because she would have welcomed sleep, would have been ecstatic for it.

Now exhaustion was a deep and persistent ache, inside her bones.

She lifted her limbs and they felt heavy like they were someone else's.

She looked up, the voice calling to her and she startled, like always.

She took her path, her well known path between the trees, towards the clearing.

She heard the voice morph into several ones, her friends laughing as she joined them in their dance on the clearing. She moved, her movement more graceful than she ever recalled having moved. Suddenly all of them, Stella, Charlotte and the others fluttered to the ground. And she saw Jake holding a smoking gun in his hand.

She woke gasping, the first conscious thought in her head hoping she didn't wake him.

She stared at him, sleeping quietly next to her. She held her breath until she made sure he wasn't awoken by her tossing and turning, before she sank back into the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm her senses.


	34. Keep the beat

Author's note: Thank you for reading and giving me feedback, I appreciate all of your thoughts and comments.

We're close to the ending now! Boy it's been a ride...

* * *

It was a slow process, but she could see it change every day. His crew was over a lot, never a planed occurrence, just people drifting into their home to check up on them and then linger around, as if being near Tristan made the guys less restless and being near Samuel made everyone more hopeful.

Samuel was a true wonder and no matter how distraught or tired she felt, how bleak or uncertain their life seemed, looking at his face, alive and filling with recognition at each new sensation, made her smile and feel at peace. She had been afraid that having a child to care for would reawaken her memories of her own childhood, still too consuming for her to recall, but it was as if Samuel had the ability ro repaint and rearrange her every thought, her every emotion, filling it with love and some indescribable, imperishable hope.

He was awake a lot now, his eyes following the movement of people around him, sitting in his chair as he let out amusing shrieks and funny gurgles. He always generated an audience, like a living and breathing water cooler, people standing around him watching him as they talked about nothing in particular, healing slowly, learning to trust and encourage each other. It was like group therapy and Rory could tell Tristan was the silent leader, surveying every person, regarding every interaction carefully, always quietly pondering about what would be the best way to move on.

Billy seemed to be the one who was the most restless and Rory often recalled Donna's words from when they were camping. She knew Tristan was aware and she wondered if he was worried about loosing Billy, his desire to get back to work trumping loyalty, but if Tristan was concerned, he didn't let on.

They all worked, going to the base daily and often disappearing for a day or two and it reminded Rory of the time she'd first met Tristan, his mysterious job consuming but still giving them a chance to live something akin to a normal life.

The girls still continued their rituals of helping each other out, their get-togethers now often localized to Rory and Tristan's place and she felt reassured and safe when they were around. They never talked about what had happened, but they stuck together, like their own special force crew of support and love.

They supported Stella unconditionally, taking over tasks and commitments, helping out with chores and plans. Jake was accepting and committed and Tristan kept a close eye on him, driving him to appointments and inviting him over to spend together as much as was possible.

Seeing Jake was an adjustment for her. The first time she saw him walk in, she had to consciously stop herself from clutching Samuel to herself to not offend him. He looked calm, but there was something foreign about him, his movements slow, controlled, his eyes always drifting slightly. It made her feel nervous and guilty and worried all at once. He regarded her with apologetic eyes, always keeping his distance as if amending the only way he knew how to. She realized that they were never left alone together, Tristan always mindful to sit in between them or remain in the room if they were both in it. She wondered if it was conscious on his part or almost second nature. She wondered if it was because he still felt a sense of worry or if he just wanted to reassure her.

The weather was turning hot and they had barbecues out in the back garden, with children running around and guys tending the grill.

To onlookers they might have seemed like an ordinary, happy group, but as Rory scanned the faces, knowing their own private struggles and fears, she couldn't help but wonder how real it all was.

She saw Gina, her face in a bittwersweet smile as she watched Donna's little boy practice walking with the aid of Billy. She saw Stella glancing nervously at Jake every now and then as he sat in the shade of the porch watching the others.

Rory took a deep breath as she walked over to him, hiding in the shade of the porch as the others sat around the table out in the back garden.

She joined him, sitting down in the chair next to his and he looked at her slightly startled as she smiled nervously at him.

"How are you?" she asked, nervously glancing at him.

"I think I'm okay" he replied tentatively.

"That's good" Rory nodded, forcing another smile onto her face.

They sat, both staring out into the garden, the comfortable silence enveloping them.

"I'm sorry" he whispered and she inhaled sharply, the words startling her.

"It's okay" she said, glancing at him, focusing on his eyes, solemn and tired as she nodded.

"It's not" he shook his head.

"I think you might have been right" Rory said, her face turning into a frown and Jake glanced at her, with sad eyes.

"Rory, I really wasn't" he shook his head slowly.

"I…I miss him a lot" she said, her voice faltering. "I'm sorry Samuel won't know him… I'm sorry Tristan wasn't there, but then I'm glad he wasn't and then I feel guilty…"

"I understand" Jake said, his voice calm and it made her stop her rambling.

She looked at him, their eyes meeting for a second before he looked back out to the garden and she felt like he really did understand her.

"Rory… it wasn't fair of me to blame you with any of it" he said slowly, as if choosing every word carefully.

"If it weren't for me, he would have been there… and maybe he'd be alive still" she whispered, her voice faltering.

Jake shrugged.

"Or maybe he wouldn't. Who the fuck knows?" he asked and Rory swallowed, feeling the bitter taste in her mouth.

They sat in silence, staring out into the garden. Sarah and Peter were running around in the lush green grass and Tristan was showing Dylan and Gina bird nests, settled inside the canopy of their many trees.

"I am going to go back" Jake said and she was disoriented for a moment, not really grasping what he was saying. When she realized what he meant she looked at him with dread.

"I know that thought worries you" he said, not looking at her but rather staring ahead at his crew.

"Doesn't it worry you?" she asked.

"It does. But it's not going to stop me" he said.

She felt a chill, a sense of déjà vu as the words echoed inside her chest.

"Jake… you might not remember how you were before you got into the hospital. I saw what it did to Stella…" she started, her voice sounding desperate to her own ears.

"I know" he said with a heavy sigh. "I have to work harder on that. I know that" he said and Rory glanced at his profile, feeling lost.

"I was not myself, I let that injury overtake me. I let his death overtake me…" he shook his head.

"How could you not? Jake, those are heavy burdens to bear… and you were right to be worried about it taking over your life…"

He nodded.

"It's okay to stop" she said, her voice breaking. "You don't owe anyone anything."

"I feel like I have to get back, so I can set myself right" he said, his eyes focusing on the wood of the porch beneath their feet.

"I don't understand" she shook her head.

"The day Spinner died…I lost something that day, Rory. I lost feeling untouchable. I lost feeling like if I just have faith and stay calm, then I can do anything" he said, shaking his head lightly as his jaw tensed. "But I can't lose the feeling that I am in charge of my own mind, my own life, my own choices" he went on, turning his head to look at her. "I can't accept that I've become a victim, that I let my life be guided by loss. I am strong enough to survive loss. I am strong enough to bear it. And I am strong enough to not be afraid of losing again" he said and she nodded, despite herself.

"I have Stella. And the kids. And Tristan. And you" he said, with a bittersweet smile. "I have to accept the help. But I have to also make a commitment to getting better and staying that way. I'm not sure I can do that without going back."

She inhaled a deep breath, seeing the conviction in his eyes.

"You guys are a special brand of insane" she said with a wry smile.

He let out a chuckle.

"I don't understand how loss fuels you, instead of crippling you" she wondered out loud.

"It might just be the drugs talking, but you can't let the loss burden you forever. If I don't accept it, if I don't feel it, if I don't make it a part of me, it will poison my life, and theirs."

She felt tears sting her eyes as the words sunk deep into her soul, unlodging a feeling there that seemed to start a wave of uncertainty within her, like dominoes falling.

"I just want you to know I'm sorry," he said, pulling her back from her thoughts, spiraling dangerously, "and I want you to know, I know that working to go back means I have to regain your trust first."

Her eyes shot to his, surprised and she saw the honesty there, the commitment.

"He is my command and I know… I know what you mean to him and I don't have the right to know anything else."

She nodded as they sat, two lost souls finding a strange solace.

She felt a pair of eyes on her and she glanced towards the garden, noticing Tristan staring at the interaction with a terse look.

* * *

Jake was quiet, but more assured by every day that passed. She looked on in wonder wondering if that was really all it took for a person to heal: conviction. It left her feeling unsure, guilty almost.

Tristan had him over daily, giving him tasks in the garden. The two of them would be at it for hours and sometimes Rory saw them talking, while other times they were silent. The first time she saw Jake smile without the guarded and bittersweet look, with genuine joy and lightness, she held her breath as if she were witnessing some rare miracle. Tristan didn't even flinch. She wondered if it was something inherently his, knowing what people needed, or something he had learned while he was fighting to get back to life himself.

Stella was there often and she welcomed it, her nearness helping with her anxiety over the baby. She still felt like she was doing everything wrong and seeing Stella do the things that she felt overwhelmed by, gave her a sense of calm.

She walked in on her one day, Samuel in one hand, while she was ironing clothes with the other, humming to herself softly.

She stared in astonishment.

"What?" Stella asked with a chuckle.

She couldn't tell her that the fact that she was able to hold the baby in one hand with so much confidence that she didn't mind operating a steaming iron with the other was one of the most impressive things she'd ever seen.

She still had Stella and her kids spend the night often even after Jake had been back at home, somehow all of them still needing to be able to have the way to escape, even if Jake was slowly improving. It would never be something they planed, but it would happen, because the kids fell asleep watching a show, or there would be a storm outside and Stella would decide not to risk driving home.

Tristan never seemed phased by the occurrence, carrying the kids up to the spare bedroom while he let Rory and Stella take the bedroom. He would crash in the nursery with Samuel or down on the couch.

Stella and Rory would whisper to each other for hours and she felt a strange sense of ease with her now. She'd told her about how she became a journalist, told her about Logan, told her about her mother and how she'd lost her. She confessed her dread about being a mother, about having something that reminded her daily of what she had lost before, about her fear of being faced with her old childhood memories and the inevitable onslaught of pain she'd feel by every new experience. The blonde woman would listen in silence, sometimes for hours on end, squeezing her hand gently when Rory felt like there were no more words to say.

* * *

Jake was down to a couple of sessions per week and he started back at work, with Tristan, taking part in training and administration. They were recruiting someone new, a replacement for Spinner and she could tell it left them both with ambivalent feelings.

They would show up together after work, Stella often waiting for them at Rory's and they would have dinner most days, the kids playing outside for hours as their parents sat with Tristan and Rory in companionable silence.

Rory felt a lot more reassured about Jake now, his demeanor so much calmer and she could see the change in Stella too, her friend back to the carefree personality she first came to know.

It was Tristan's birthday and they had a quiet dinner, with food mostly Stella prepared and a cake Rory bought from the store.

Samuel was mesmerized by the candles and even more so by the singing and Rory laughed as he gurgled along with the melody.

"This is from us" Stella handed Tristan a wrapped gift and he opened it with a tight smile on his face. When his eyes fell on the picture inside the wooden frame, his face froze, his eyes becoming guarded.

"You still don't have any pictures in the house, I noticed" Stella smiled and Tristan looked at her, returning her smile even though it didn't reach his eyes.

Rory looked at the picture, sitting next to Tristan, a group photo they took back on their camping trip with all the guys and the wives and children huddling around to fit in the frame. Rory looked from one face to another, her eyes landing on Spinner's form, looking tall and happy in the picture. She felt her heart constrict. Pictures were something she had gotten disenchanted with, as she could hardly display any that didn't include someone she had lost over the years and she figured it was much the same for Tristan.

She glanced at him, his eyes focusing on the picture.

"I love it, thanks" he said, glancing back up at Stella and then to Jake, who was sitting there with a solemn expression as though he understood Tristan's feelings precisely.

When they left that evening, she saw Tristan walk the family outside, helping the already sleepy kids into the back seat. When he shut the door behind them, Jake thanked him shaking his hand and then pulling him into a hug.

Rory watched in silence, as the two men embraced, her chest swelling with pain but at the same time a strange sense of redemption.

She heard Samuel start to cry and took a deep breath, turning to take him upstairs.

She was feeding him in the rocking chair when she saw Tristan come into the nursery, leaning against the doorframe to watch them.

"Hey old man. How is 35 treating you?"

"So far, so good" he chuckled.

"Jake seems to be doing better" she remarked.

"Yeah" he nodded with a wry smile.

"You were right about him" she added.

"I hope so" he replied.

"I'm horrible, you know?" she groaned.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"I didn't get you a present" she breathed in. "I wanted to when I got the cake, I thought you might like something for the garden, but then Samuel was awake and crying…"

"It's fine, Rory" he broke her off, walking over to her, to kneel before her, his hand reaching out to caress the smooth top of Samuel's head. He was halfway asleep, his mouth still latched, but only occasionally suckling.

"I think I have everything I need" he murmured, his eyes focused on the baby.

"I did get you something actually" she said, her voice unsure.

He looked up at her in question, absent minded, his face confused as he met her intent gaze.

"It's condoms" she said, unsure.

He let out an amused chuckle.

"Condoms?" he asked and then smiled a wry smile, his gaze drifting off.

"It's been way more than six weeks" she said quietly.

"It's been eight" he corrected her and she squinted her eyes with a small smile.

"So you do keep track?" she asked with a chuckle.

He shrugged.

"It's… it wasn't exactly the priority with … everything" he said, dropping his gaze, focusing back on Samuel, his jaw setting as he caressed him.

It wasn't that they weren't intimate. They were craving the other's closeness always, drifting into exhausted slumber while their limbs tangled together and she would wake sometimes, craving to be even closer, moving into his hold as he accommodated her. She felt his arousal often, every time she slid into bed next to him, every time he pulled her into his embrace, even if they were both tired and exhausted. He would kiss her, slowly and thoroughly, making her heart race, but never tried for more. She sensed his cautious consideration, carefully positioning himself so she wouldn't feel pressured physically or emotionally, and she was thankful, exhaustion often overruling all of her urges.

But sometimes she would feel desire stir within her, her tired mind abandoning pretenses and inhibitions, moving to touch him without restraint, her fingers grasping him quickly and grittily. He would pull her close, sighing into her hair as he whispered filthy encouragements and would explode into her hand with enviable speed. He would move to return the favor quickly, knowing she still appreciated the gentleness of his tongue over the firmness of his fingers. But these encounters were few, rushed and often performed in a haze of exhaustion, always mindful that they could be cut short.

It was not nearly enough to sooth the growing restlessness inside herself, even as she was ready to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She handed him the baby, taking him back once she was up from the chair. She placed him inside the crib and was thankful Samuel was out of it in a satiated haze.

"Come on" she called out, without looking back, walking towards their bedroom.

She unbuttoned her dress, slowly taking it off and turning around to see him regard her leaning against the door frame, with his fingers rubbing his mouth.

"You're gorgeous" he said and she closed her eyes trying to believe the words.

"You're good at making me believe that" she chuckled.

He moved then, slowly, his hand reaching out to run over her exposed skin.

He guided her hand towards himself, his eyes closing as he rested his forehead against hers.

"Rory. I'm not just making you believe that. This is what you do to me. Still. Always" he murmured.

She smiled in response, her hand moving to open his fly and push his jeans down while he took his shirt off.

She watched his chest, his old scar faded but still rough to the touch and she felt her nerves take over her. She suddenly felt overwhelmed, feeling so far from the place where she first saw this scar, their minds and soul separated by so many secrets and injuries back then but their bodies so in tune with each other. She wondered if that synchronicity was something she took for granted, something that she might learn to miss.

She felt him push her gently down to the bed, his eyes studying her intently as though he were following along with her spiral of thoughts. She laid back, releasing a breath that didn't ease the tension in her chest and closed her eyes as she felt him move down her body, his lips trailing light kisses over her skin. She felt his mouth on her and she gasped, his tongue lapping out to wet her and she sucked in a breath.

"I thought it was your birthday" she whispered and he chuckled, giving her another generous lick before moving back up her body.

"It is, but I'm guessing this will help" he said, his finger spreading her wetness and she gasped again, his eyes catching hers. They were full of lust and she suddenly saw his restraint, his patient resolve.

"Where are those condoms?" he murmured and she smiled, pointing to the nightstand.

"Just like old times" he sighed.

"It's just until I can start taking the pills again" she shrugged.

She watched as he sheeted himself, her nervous excitement growing.

He moved to the bed, joining her and she felt him move, bringing her with him to position her on top of him as he sat up, letting her find her place in his lap.

She felt the nerves again as she felt him achingly hard against her.

He sat motionless as if waiting for her and she took a shaky breath, lifting slightly and grasping him to position him against her entrance.

She sank down on him slowly, the feeling foreign and familiar at the same time, the awkward ache surprising her. She focused on his face, his jaw tensing as his eyes swirled with desire.

She let gravity pull her down, his length settling into her and she released a shuddering breath of pain and slowly awaking pleasure.

He held still, his hands on her leg, watching her with a serious concentration.

"You okay?" he breathed out, his words soft and she nodded, trying to convince herself as much as him.

She moved, tentatively, her face contorting slightly and his hands moved to her ass, lifting her in a slow controlled manner, taking over the effort from her. His movements were eternally slow and she relaxed, feeling his strength prominent as he lifted and brought her back down, his length slowly sliding against her.

She felt the ache fade with each second, the pulsing inside her focusing around where she surrounded him, the familiar feeling of pleasure replacing all discomfort and she closed her eyes, releasing a small moan. He faltered for only a second before continuing his movements, his hips starting to move slowly in sync with her body guided by his arms. His thrusts, slow and careful, filled her senses, her moans coming steadily as she felt more at ease. She felt one of his arms move to the back of her head, his fingers entwining into her hair and he pulled on it gently, making her arch her back and sink further down onto his lap at the next thrust. The sensation made her cry out, her body flooded with pleasure and her mind marveled at the fact that he still seemed to know better than her what she needed, what her body craved. She let her body go limp, his guiding movements turning and twisting her body into a quivering mess, her hands resting on his chest as she gave into the feeling of bliss flooding her body. She came with a strangled moan as he continued to guide her movements, prolonging her pleasure. She blinked her eyes open as the feeling was fading slowly from her, seeing him move in for a kiss, pulling her impossibly close as she felt him come apart with a quiet moan.


	35. Through the bars of a rhyme

Author's note:

Well, I definitely don't have another fifty chapters, but I hope you continue to read it. Thank you all who gave me feedback or sent me pm's, it is greatly appreciated.

* * *

They spent the next months in a solemn bliss. Tristan went to the base every morning, usually gone by the time Rory finished the first tasks of the day after she crawled to Samuel's room to appease his disdain which was signaled by loud crying. She focused on their daily schedule, the stability helping with her anxiety and she was fairing a lot better at managing time to juggle her work and her role at home with the help of Tristan and Stella.

When Tristan would come home in the afternoon, his first trip would always be to greet Samuel, lifting him high up in the air, the chubby baby always greeting him with a smile and Tristan would laugh, one of the rare instances when the smile would reach his eyes. He would greet her next, kissing her on her temple before he would hand her the baby, his eyes already looking out the back window.

They spent the late afternoons outside, the heat fading enough for it to be pleasant outside. She sat in the garden, the baby sleeping better in the fresh air and Tristan still found things to fix, using the couple of hours of sunlight left, taking up chores to do in the garden while they lounged under the shade of the magnolia trees. The tree with the broken branch, after a year where she was worried it would wither and die, seemed to be coming back to life, its deep green leaves splendid in the summer sunshine.

"I think you should go back to work" she said and she watched as he turned slowly, his hands tensing into fists in the garden gloves he was wearing.

She felt his eyes on her, intense and searching and she braced herself as she met his gaze.

"I am at work" he said and she knew it was going to be a difficult conversation.

"I meant active status. On missions" she spelled it out for him.

"I didn't realize you were tired of me" he said, his voice nonchalant, but he didn't turn back to whatever he was doing, instead coming up to her and discarding his gloves before he sat down on the blanket she was sitting on.

"I heard you talking with Billy the other day" she said watching him as he leaned down next to Samuel, on his side.

"He's being courted" he shrugged and she remembered the conversation, the two of them whispering in hushed tones. She couldn't make out the specifics, but it sounded like he was being lured to do some secretive project that would have meant giving up waiting for their crew to reassemble.

"Do you think he'll bite?" she asked and Tristan looked up at her, his eyes unsure.

"I think he's got a little more patience" he said.

"What if you said you were ready to go back?" she asked with a sigh.

"I'm not sure we're all ready" he said.

"Jake seems stable" she replied.

He looked at her, studying her face.

"He does" he nodded.

She felt his eyes on her, studying her and she wondered if he thought she was the one not ready.

"I see you. You're out of place. Restless. And I don't want you restless. I want you focused. I want you happy" she said.

He squinted, studying her face, but she noted that he didn't contradict her.

"He's so small still" he murmured and she felt her chest constrict.

The couple of words, his lack of excuses told her she had been right and that he had been thinking about it too, perhaps since the moment he decided to go on leave.

She sighed, willing herself to stay cool and collected.

"I know. But it's better this way. He's eating and sleeping and pooping most of the time so it's going to be easier for you to get back now and stay focused."

He watched her curiously.

"You won't be worried about him falling off swings and getting hurt at soccer practice yet" she reasoned. "It will be easier for you to adjust" she went on, rationalizing for herself more than for him.

"He's not playing soccer" he said.

"Yes. That's my point. Surely not for another couple of years" she agreed.

"No. I mean not ever" he said, his face serious.

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, Captain America… not the point. You know what I mean" she nudged him, smiling as she saw him break his expression with a smile.

"I do. But what about you?" he said, his eyes regarding her wearily.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I've got Stella and the other girls will help too" she reassured him.

"Rory" he said her name, his voice pleading.

"I love you. Please. Don't... this is hard enough for me" she stopped him, closing her eyes to keep her emotions in check.

When she opened them to look at him, he nodded silently, leaning forward to give her a slow kiss.

* * *

The first time he left, she thought she might die of worry.

She laid in bed, the morning breeze through the window a stark contrast to the raging anxiety inside her chest.

She heard Samuel stir and then begin fussing, but she couldn't move, couldn't tell herself to get out of bed.

She watched the ceiling, counting to herself, until she lost her train of thought, the baby's crying becoming louder.

She moved suddenly, the room spinning slightly as she braced herself on the side of the bed.

She went to Samuel's room and took the baby into her arms, the little boy instantly quieting.

"Shhh" she hushed him even though he wasn't crying anymore. "We're going to be fine, you and me, okay?" she asked him, her voice frantic even to her own ears.

She had been telling herself that she would fare okay, on her own, but that notion seemed laughable about three days in. There was just simply not enough hours in the day. She stuck with the basics, getting Samuel fed and changed, bathed, but it seemed to her she finished a task and had to restart the other. Doing the laundry, the dishes, shopping for food and god forbid, cleaning the house seemed like luxuries she had to find time for by sacrificing her own time to rest. And there wasn't much of that to begin with.

The days she went to teach her class, she felt like she was literally treading water, trying to keep her head up to be able to breathe.

She saw the quiet terror in Stella's eyes when she came over, her eyes glancing over the mess of the living room.

"I think I might fail spectacularly" Rory admitted to her, hiccuping between sobs.

"Nonsense" her friend brushed her off, giving her a quick hug. "You're doing amazing."

But she was already moving through the living room, like some magical Mary Poppins, picking up stuff and creating order in a place that seemed like it was lost to chaos.

"How did you do all this? Twice?" she asked her as she was trying to lull Samuel back to sleep later, while Stella was finishing up cleaning the kitchen.

"I had friends. The way you have me" she replied.

"I don't know what I'd do without you" she said, sniffing.

"You won't have to know" the blonde smiled back at her. "Rory, we are family."

She watched her with a stunned expression, but nodded.

It was a learning curve, but she seemed to be doing better day by day. She had to have structure, so she had a schedule and lists and reminders.

She liked having the girls over because it motivated her and she welcomed the joy and peace that their quiet support provided her. They would cook and talk, plan and then make new plans when the guys' schedule would rearrange said plans.

It was one of those joyful and loud nights and she smiled as Donna and Stella cooked in the kitchen and Vicky rocked Samuel in her arms, trying to keep him from crying. It seemed like he needed constant movement when he was awake, otherwise they would be treated to a cacophony of crying. She listened for a while glancing towards the stairs as she noted it's been a while since their fifth companion disappeared.

She wandered upstairs, listening for any noise. She found Gina throwing up in the bathroom and she quickly came in, moving to shut the door behind her.

She carefully sat down on the edge of the tub, reaching out to rub her friend's back gently and Gina let out a strangled chuckle as her hand grasped Rory's.

"Here" she said, wetting a washcloth and wiping Gina's face.

Gina leaned back, letting her clean her as she closed her eyes.

"How far along are you?" Rory asked in a hushed tone and Gina's eyes opened, conveying fear and worry.

"Eighteen" she whispered.

Rory nodded, trying to look reassuring.

"You didn't want to tell us?" she asked.

Gina looked down, swallowing hard.

"First time it was week twelve. Then nineteen. I have this weird notion that I make it further than the last time, I can maybe say it out loud" she said, glancing up at her with such an earnest look that Rory felt her heart twist.

She scooted down to the floor, positioning herself behind Gina, her arms going around her.

She heard him release a quiet sob as she felt her relax against her embrace.

"I'm so scared" Gina whispered.

"I know" Rory murmured.

"I found out right after Spinner died… and I thought, maybe there was a reason that it didn't happen for us… maybe God is sending us a message" she cried, her voice faltering.

"That's nonsense, Gina" Rory said, pulling her closer to herself and she felt her release another sob.

She thought of Samuel, thought of Stella's kids and Donna's. She thought of Charlotte, her grace and her poise. She tried to hold on to the thought of all these strong women, tried to channel that strength and conviction and she tried to wrap Gina in all that hope, that protective sheen of certainty.

"There is no such thing as a perfect set up. You just have to do your very best no matter what the circumstances are. And you are. We are all doing our very best" she murmured into Gina's hair as she continued to hold her close to her.

* * *

He told her he was coming back and she was thankful for the heads up. She spent the day trying to bring some semblance of order to the house and put makeup on, to make herself look more presentable. She realized she'd been looking frail and pale and she certainly didn't want him to think that she was barely hanging on by a thread. Even if it was possibly true.

He walked in the door and she ran up to him, letting him kiss her. His skin was tanned, like when he was on regular missions, his frame strong and full of life.

She laughed as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, backing her up towards the table in the foyer.

"You know what happened the last time you did that" she pointed out.

He chuckled. They heard the case in point gurgle just then as he sat in his chair in the kitchen.

Tristan looked up, as he let Rory sink back down to the ground slowly.

"Jesus. He's so big" he said amazed as he walked to take his boy into his arms.

The baby looked at Tristan in wonder as he lifted him, breaking into a grin as he let him drop lightly.

"I know, his lungs are certainly big" she remarked cynically as she came to join them.

"You okay?" she felt Tristan study her as he lifted Samuel above his head again, making the little boy giggle.

"Yeah" she nodded.

"It's been a month and he's like this other kid. Are you sure it's the same kid?" he asked her in mock seriousness.

"I thought about exchanging him a couple of times, but then didn't. So yeah, I'm sure" she replied without missing a beat.

He looked at her, his smile fading slowly from his face and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling silly for the joke.

"You sure you okay?" he repeated, taking the baby into one of his arms, while he drew Rory in with the other.

"Yeah. I missed you." she said as she burrowed her face into his chest, letting him kiss the top of her head.

* * *

She didn't think she would ever have enough energy to even think about sex, but when she woke up the next morning, finding him next to her, his naked torso draped around her, she felt like back when they first started seeing each other.

She woke him up by snuggling into his hold and kissing him gently. She felt her stomach flutter and the kiss grew hotter, as she ground her hips against his.

"I missed you" he murmured, his hands traveling under her nightgown.

"There's condoms in the nightstand" she breathed in-between kisses.

"I love it when you talk dirty" he chuckled.

"I'm serious. I'm not back on the pill yet. I'm still breastfeeding" she scolded him, pulling back to underline her point with a stern look.

"Okay, keep that up we won't need the condom" Tristan pointed to her cynically.

She rolled her eyes and dove back in to kiss him. He moved to her neck and further down her body, his hands roaming the smooth skin he found.

"You're gorgeous. Are you sure you had a baby?" he said, his mouth trailing kisses on her stomach.

"Look, I'm running around, sleeping nothing, eating less, and lifting him has become quite the workout" she chuckled.

"You're beautiful" he whispered.

"Tris, I love the foreplay, I really do, but this little dictator is gonna wake up any minute" she whined.

"Okay" he chuckled, coming back up to look at her as he settled between her legs.

"Condom" she warned him again.

He stalled for a second, his blue eyes set on hers.

"Maybe we shouldn't bother" he murmured.

"What now?" she looked at him, mouth agape.

"You are breastfeeding still, chances are slim" he said.

"Yeah, do you remember last time?" she asked him, incredulous. "I was on the pill and still your supersperm found a way."

"Would it be that bad? This one turned out alright" he gestured towards the general vicinity of Samuel's room.

Rory stared at him.

"Tristan. Don't you think we should talk about this?" she asked.

"Okay, let's do" he said, a smile playing on his lips as he adjusted himself to enter her.

"I meant before you..." she trailed of, moaning, "before you do that."

He slid into her slowly, his hand brushing back the hair from her face as she let out a long sigh.

"I've never seen you this happy. You're exhausted and rail thin and falling asleep over dinner, but your eyes are so happy when you look at him. I look at him with you and I know it was the only decision we could have made. Whatever happens. It's gonna be fine" he whispered, as his hips moved back and into her rhythmically.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of him inside her, his breath mixing with hers as he panted lightly.

She forced her eyes open, praying for enough clarity to get back to the conversation.

"Yeah, but I'm the one stuck with two babies while you're off gallivanting" she said, her voice a throaty whisper.

He smiled again, stalling for a moment and she felt him pulsing and rock hard inside her.

"Would that be horrible though?" he asked and she stared at him, his eyes sparkling with a strange emotion.

She shook her head slightly.

"No, I guess no" she said, the sentence surprising herself more than him.

She saw a smile spread on his lips, intense and genuine and his hips started moving again, making her moan unintelligibly.

"I think I want a girl next. With eyes like her mom" he said thrusting again and making her eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Tris..." she breathed.

"You're fucking beautiful. Let me see you come" he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper as he moved even faster.

"Jesus" she groaned, feeling her breath falter as he drove into her, her body already close to the brink.

"Let me, see you" he repeated, his words ragged as he was taken over.

She exploded around him, her eyes fixed on his as she convulsed hard.

He cried out, spilling into her, his head resting against hers as she felt him jerk within her.


	36. A place for us

Author's note: This is the last chapter of this story, although there will be a little epilogue. I loved working on it and I want to thank all of you who stuck with it and let me know what you thought. I loved reading your comments and PM's about how the story related to you or how it made you feel, it really was a great experience for me.

So thank you!

You're wondering how it's all going to wrap up?

You know I can't resist a little Deus Ex Machina...

* * *

She was lounging in the living room, reading a book, an occurrence only made possible by the fact that it was Saturday and Tristan had installed a porch swing on the front porch a couple of weeks prior.

It turned out to be heavens sent, the rhythmic swinging and soft creaking lulling Samuel to sleep even at his most inconsolable.

That was a tool she needed, especially with Tristan being back on missions. She noted that the missions were less frequent and shorter, perhaps something arranged by Tristan with her on his mind, or perhaps to give Jake a chance to ease back slowly into work, since he was now back with the rest of his crew. She didn't know and didn't really want to know. She was thankful and enjoyed the times Tristan was home and tried to steel herself for times he wasn't.

Her attention was pulled back to her book, even as she heard the soft coos and Tristan's occasional hushed murmur coming through the opened window. She was taken aback when she heard the porch deck creek and Tristan ask "Can I help you?" in a serious tone.

The answering voice made the blood freeze in her veins.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Rory Gilmore, I might not be in the right place."

She recognized that drawl, that distinct pronunciation, the words almost muffled, but still distinctly understandable.

She got up from the couch, the book landing unceremoniously on the floor as she walked to the front door.

She opened the door and stepped outside, barefoot and baffled and felt two sets of eyes land on her.

"Jess" she said, tasting the word like it was a long forgotten childhood memory.

He stood in her front yard, still as stone, his eyes a deep sea of brown as he regarded her and then glanced back at Tristan who was slowly making his way over to her, sleepy baby in his arms.

"Is everything okay?" he asked her, not taking his eyes off of the newcomer.

Rory could not find her voice, taking a deep breath as she nodded and forced a smile onto her face.

"Yeah… this is… Jess… Luke's nephew."

She felt Tristan look at her, worry evident on his face for only a second before he leaned in, gently kissing her temple and whispering into her ear.

"I'll take Sammy inside. Let me know if you need me."

She nodded, still unable to break her gaze away from Jess.

He looked the same and different, his frame fuller, his hair long, his face covered with a stubble, the years evident on his face, but with a calmness she didn't remember about him. The way she remembered him, there was always something restless and uncontrolled brewing under his skin. Now he looked grown up and composed in a way only those who've given up some battles can.

It was past and present, the planes of time crumpled up, so everything was touching and she was faced with her own memories, her own feelings and everything they unlocked, screaming and menacing inside her, like a reverberating echo.

She heard the front door close and she felt her legs weaken, letting herself slide down to the steps of the house she owned, the ghost from the past stepping a couple of steps closer to her.

"You have a baby" he said, almost as if to himself.

She nodded, her eyes filing with tears.

"Wow. Is it…? Is it a…?"

"A boy" she cut him off and he nodded with a sour smile, as if he had been expecting a different answer.

"Samuel" she added and his smile grew wider.

"And that's your… you're married?" he asked, glancing towards the house.

She nodded.

"How did you find me?" she asked, the words so soft she didn't think he'd heard them, but he looked away into the distance smirking.

"This might come as a shock… but Huntzberger told me" he said, pronouncing the name with a trace of disdain.

She blinked, the sentence making no sense to her.

She watched as he moved slowly, and sat down on the step below her, his back against the railing as he turned to face her, but did not look her in the eye, his gaze landing instead at her feet pulled up under her dress.

"I ran into him in New York and I asked" he said.

"I didn't think he knew…" she murmured, baffled.

"I get the sense he's keeping an eye on you" he said, clearing his throat, his eyes glancing up only momentarily.

She felt her mind reeling, replaying the last time she'd seen Logan, more than a year ago. But then she remembered his hand in her getting a job, his connections at Georgetown and she wondered if he really did keep tabs on her.

She furrowed her brows, shaking her head slowly.

"What else did he tell you?" she asked.

"That you seemed better" he said.

She nodded, the thought of that conversation making her feel a strange sort of unease.

"I told him I doubt that" he said, his tone light and she looked up at him catching his eyes as he dropped his gaze again with a half smile. "You'd show up back home if you would be."

She furrowed her eyes, nausea passing through her. She'd been feeling it for a couple of days but this was sudden and vicious, so she knew not to blame it on anything but heartless and insurmountable grief, inflicted by his pointed remark.

There was a question nagging at her, but she couldn't quite find the words. He seemed to know anyway.

"I pass through every now and then. I gave the café to Caesar, but I kept the apartment" he said, his deep brown eyes shining.

His words were magical, her mind instantly transported, and she saw the old sign, heard the bell ding signaling the door opening.

She felt the nausea intensify and she closed her eyes, her arm snaking around the railing closer to her. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his expression contemplative.

"Do you… do you still live in Philadelphia?" she asked, trying to focus on enunciating the words, trying to keep her mind from conjuring up images that left her defensless.

"Yeah… I do. Still trying to act all cool, though… I don't know how convincing it is at this point in my life" he chuckled.

"I think you're probably still able to fool most people" she played along, but her voice was unsteady, her hands shaking lightly.

"Well, we sold Truncheon. How is that for hip and cool? It got to a point where we had to face grown up stuff" he chuckled.

"I'm sorry" she said.

"Nah, it worked out good. I run an imprint of Penguin" he shrugged.

"Wow, that's… that's really incredible, Jess" she said, swallowing hard, the conversation only feeling a tad bit safer to her.

"Yeah, I gotta bring home the dough" he shrugged again, smirking.

She looked at him questioning and he cocked his head slightly.

"You're not the only one procreating" he said, reaching into his back pocket.

Rory watched as he took his wallet and opened it, revealing a picture of Jess with a curly haired woman and a smiling baby.

"That's Chrissie and Ben. He's four" he said.

Rory looked at him astonished and their eyes met, the uneasy feeling inside her returning as she watched his face grow serious.

"You look good. This place looks…" he was glancing up, "like a real home."

"I'm sorry" she said impulsively. "I know how it looks, but I can't do this" she gritted out.

"Rory" he tried to interject.

"No. I know what it looked like, me disappearing like that…" she went on, her words bordering on hysterical.

"Hey, if anyone knows about needing to fall off the face of the earth, it's me" he said, his tone back to the light joking one.

She stared at him, unmoving.

"And, if that's what you needed… to get to here" he gestured around, "and that" he pointed towards the house where Tristan disappeared with the baby, his voice almost breaking as a sad smile settled on his face.

There was a silence and she almost felt the nausea dissipate. Until he spoke again, jolting her heart into a gallop.

"But you know I still get calls from Lane. Which is fine, because I can muster a conversation with her. Sookie on the other hand… she's a lot."

Rory closed her eyes, his light tone not quite enough to make his words any less disobliging.

"Jess" she pleaded, closing her eyes.

"People still… They have wounds, you know?" she heard him go on, in that insistent way that was so characteristic of him.

"Please" she whispered.

"They all think that somehow I have the key" he said bemused. "Lane and Sookie and Liz and TJ… like I'm the one who is magically going to break trough" he said, his face now a grimacing smile, his whole body vibrating with a nervous energy, that made him stand up and slowly pace infront of her.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this" she said, her eyes following his panther like walk, as her hand still clutched the railing.

"Why?" he said stopping as he turned to her.

"You know why" she replied, her face contorting.

"I know why. I feel like you still have trouble saying it out loud though" he replied, his face cold as he looked her straight in the eye.

They stared at each other, her breaths stinging.

"They're dead, Rory. They died" he said slowly, his nostrils flaring as he spoke the words.

"Stop it" she gritted out, closing her eyes as the nausea returned.

"But that doesn't mean you get to erase them" he went on.

"Stop it" she said, louder, opening her eyes to look at him.

"And you can leave anyone who reminds you of them behind…" he continued, his words like a prophecy.

"Please" she said, almost yelling now.

"… but how do you think you're going to be a mother without facing it?" he said, the words hanging in the air, like knives, ready to puncture her skin.

"Please" she repeated, the word a broken sob.

"Without her?" he delivered the final blow.

"Please!" she shouted.

She heard the front door open and she saw Jess glance up.

She didn't have to turn around to know Tristan was standing above her, she knew the expression he must have had on his face as he stared at Jess, his body no doubt ready to strike if necessary.

Jess nodded reflexively, his hand raising slightly in a reposing gesture, before he glanced back at her.

"You'll have to learn to accept it, Rory. Because it's not just you anymore. You're building a life, you can't do it without facing what you've lost."

He finished his speech, already backing away from the house as she saw Tristan move down the steps and in front of her, blocking her view of Jess.

"That's enough. You've gotta go" he said, his words quiet but categorical and she felt her eyes close as the nausea overwhelmed her.

"I'm right" she heard Jess say, his tone almost bargaining.

"You've gotta go" Tristan replied, she noted without contradiction.

She sat there clutching the railing, her eyes squeezed shut for what felt like minutes, until she felt Tristan gently nudge her. She took a breath, getting up and walking back into the house and up the stairs to the nursery.

She stood there, watching Samuel sleep when she felt his worried eyes on her.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine" she said, the hoarseness of her voice surprising herself.

"Rory. Don't let him upset you. He doesn't know what he's talking about" he said, his voice pleading.

She wondered how much he'd heard. How much he knew.

"He'd always had this ability. Assess my life based on little actual knowledge" she said, her voice bitter.

"I don't know how accurate his assessment is" he replied, coming to stand next to her but careful not to touch her.

"He has that ability. I guess he's the voice of reason or something to that effect in my life" she said, her voice slightly delirious.

"He might have been before. He hasn't known you for a long time" he said, his voice calm.

"But you do" she said, turning to him and he looked at her furrowing his brows.

"You agree with him, don't you?" she asked.

He stood silent, his expression worried.

"I saw how you looked at me when I was pregnant, like you were waiting for me to fall apart" she said, her voice slightly accusing.

"I think we were both looking at each other like that. This is not something we planned" he said cautiously.

"But I look at you and it makes sense to me. All this time, I thought you were damaged, I thought you were looking for a way to not get invested emotionally, but that's not true, is it?" she said, feeling her voice shake with the emotion that was rising inside of her.

"You did have a family. You had Danny and Charlotte and all the guys from your crew that you lost. You found them, you chose them. A family not made by blood, but a family nevertheless" she said, closing her eyes as she recalled the phrase from the doctor in Heidelberg.

"And you had your crash, like I had mine and we both survived but we weren't the same" she went on, her eyes still closed. She felt his hand reach out to her.

"Rory" he said and it stopped her rant momentarily. She opened her eyes to look at him, his face so worried it made her chest ache.

"You fought for your life. And you mourned them and you faced your loss and then you went back to find your new family and you worked for it, you fought so hard for it, and you are still fighting, for every one of them" she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Rory, please" he pleaded, both his hand now caressing her arms.

"And when this happened..." she went on, unphased, gesturing toward the crib, "you were scared but not for the same reason I was. I can tell because I see how you are with him. I see how you are with me. You are happy" she said, the last word said in a sort of wonder.

"When you were scared, you were scared that I wouldn't be able to accept it, not without facing what I'd lost before" she continued, pausing before finishing her speech. "You think I'm broken" she said softly and she saw his nostrils flare, but he didn't contradict her.

"You don't disagree with him, you just disapprove his method of throwing it in my face" she said.

He took a deep breath, his hold on her arms strengthening as he pulled her closer.

"Rory. You are not broken. I've seen what you are doing, Rory. I see you. You are fighting like I did. You are fighting to heal yourself. For me it took getting off a ventilator and getting out of a bed, for you it's something more painstaking and longer, but you are doing it. You made room for me in your life, you sat by your grandmother when she left, you bought a house, you married me, you carried our child. He doesn't see that because you haven't gotten to him yet. But you are on your way" he said.

She nodded, even though the words seemed too good to be true. She disentangled her arms from his hold and he let her, watching her with quiet worry and incredible restrain. She turned back to her original position, watching the baby in the crib, her eyes welling with tears.

* * *

The nausea stayed with her and she could tell it was not morning sickness, but rather anxiety, tried and true, wrecking a havoc inside her.

She was back dueling with her mind every night, her nightmares exhausting and endlessly thorough. She had been delirious, the fact made worse by the baby having had a horrible couple of weeks. She didn't know if it was him teething or being colicky but he hadn't slept through a night in ages and the rare times she managed to drift into restless sleep, she was awoken by his incessant crying every hour or so. The only thing that would lull him back to sleep was constant, monotonous humming and she took up the habit of taking him for a drive in the car at all hours of the night.

Tristan, if home, would join her as he didn't feel comfortable letting her out alone in her exhausted state. He was always on his feet quicker than she was when Sam started crying and she wondered how he managed to seem so awake and in full control of his faculties without so little sleep. He would either offer to drive or sit in the back humming softly to the baby.

Tonight he was in the back and she could tell he was exhausted too, because she saw him sleeping, his arm over the child seat as she glanced in the rear view mirror. The night was quiet and humid and she had the window cracked, the rush of air adding to the monotonous hum of the engine. The steady murmur certainly helped the baby, but she realized it calmed her mind too, finally able to relax. She realized she had been driving for over an hour and when she looked around, she saw a sign informing her she was almost outside of Philadelphia.

It was as if she had been awoken from a dream and she glanced around disoriented, her sight landing on the two sleeping forms in the rear view mirror. She wondered if she should turn back, but she felt an indescribable urge to keep driving, the piece and quiet calming her senses.

She relaxed into the chair and drove for hours.

By the time she pulled the car over, dawn was creeping all around them.

She saw Tristan stir in the rear view mirror and he looked around confused as he blinked himself to alertness.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice groggy.

Rory ignored him, unfastening her seat belt and opening her door.

She got out, taking out the baby from his seat from the back.

She took a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the sight infront of her, the recognition hitting her so hard she thought she might faint.

She studied the line of trees, tall and close together, obstructing what she knew to be just beyond them. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly as she started walking, carefully maneuvering around the trees and reaching the old iron gates beneath them.

She heard Tristan follow them silently, his feet heavy on the soft grass.

She opened the gates, walking through to the small cemetery.

She followed the path leading up towards a secluded part of the grounds, taking in the green trees offering a solemn shade over the graves and she felt her body break out in goosebumps.

The little bundle stirred against her chest and she rocked him gently, lulling him back to sleep, feeling her own racing heartbeat rival that of his in her arms.

She walked towards where she knew she would find them, even though she'd never seen the stones in life, despite having picked them out.

She gasped as she saw the two slabs of granite, a wild disarray of flowers growing on the graves. She saw the coffee mug someone had left by hers, and the baseball hat resting on top of his and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She knew what the lines, carved in stark stones, read by heart, even as she couldn't quite make them out now, her sight blurred by the tears flowing from her eyes with soundless sobs.

She walked towards the gray monuments, her one hand supporting the still sleeping form in her arm, while the other one reached out to trace letters.

' _... mother and friend_ '

"Mom" she heard herself say, her voice a breaking hiccup.

"This is Samuel" she went on, her voice high and trembling. "He was born this winter. And I thought of you so much. You would have loved him, he's such a good baby."

There was a gust of wind, the leaves rustling in the canopy and she closed her eyes, taking a second to compose herself.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for not coming sooner. I'm sorry for not being stronger. I'm sorry for falling apart and not living up to what you would have wanted of me" she said, sinking to her knees. The ground was cool and slightly damp and she welcomed the feeling of it, a distraction that was a certainty.

"I'm sorry about Grandpa... and Grandma..." she cried, a horrifying sob breaking from her chest. The tears were flowing freely now, their sting dulling into pressure.

"When you left... I thought I couldn't go on... I thought I was that tree, broken and destroyed by the side of that road. I thought I was destroyed that night too. I felt like I was dried out and dead, but it turns out... life finds a way even when you don't see one. And it found a way in me. It's finding a way in me again. And I thought I could just do it alone, that I'd have to do it alone. But the truth is, you are inside me. I see it in the way I care for him. And Grandma is inside me too, the same way she was inside you. And I have learnt to lean, because I can now" she said, the words rushing out of her uncontrollably.

"This is Tristan... you remember him... Bible Boy..." she went on, her voice faltering with the sad chuckle she released, "except he's nothing like he was back then. He's so strong and so patient. And he waited for years for me to heal. I think you'd like him a lot because... he's very good for me. He taught me how to trust and how to hope again, because I know now, what you always knew, that you can't live your life dreading what might come and you can't stop yourself from having things just so you'll never lose them" she sobbed.

"I hope you know that I never stopped thinking of you. Even when it killed me, even when I was running, even when I was that dried out tree... I never stopped loving you. And I never will."

She let her cries break unrestrained from her chest, her tears falling free.

She closed her eyes, feeling the wet grass, the soothing gust of wind, the calming rustle of the leaves.

She didn't know how long she sat there, but when she got up, clutching the bundle sleeping quietly in her arms, she turned to find Tristan, his face wet with tears as he watched her with a broken expression.

She walked towards him, handing him the baby and collapsing into his arms.

* * *

She could sense the heaviness of the dream, her limbs moving like it took them a long time to obey her commands.

Everything felt familiar, but new somehow. Shinier, softer, calmer.

She walked passed the trees, the sunshine making her squint. She saw her sitting on a small mound, her legs pulled up and her arms loosely around them.

She walked up next to her, seeing the pitch dark hair billow in the gentle breeze. She sat down next to her, arranging her limbs to mirror her position.

"Hey kiddo" the form said and she turned to her.

She had forgotten how it felt to look at her, deliberately not thinking of her face for years and now, when she saw it, the mischievous glint in those astonishingly blue eyes, _her eyes_ , she let the warm feeling wash over her, surround her.

"Hey mom" she said, feeling the warmth spread to her limbs.

"Took you a while to get here" Lorelai said, her hand reaching out to caress her face and she smiled, nodding.

"I know."

"Good thing the view is alright from here" Lorelai remarked, looking in the direction she had been staring at.

Rory followed her line of sight, her eyes coming to rest on the clearing, slightly below them. She saw three figures there, a tall familiar figure and two small ones racing in front of him, their movements clumsy, still unsteady.

She felt her heart fill with joy as she watched Tristan, and she recognized the features of Samuel on the little boy. She studied the third figure, a little girl, barely old enough to walk, Tristan reaching out every now and then to keep her from stumbling.

"That one is going to be a handful, I can tell" Lorelai chuckled and Rory looked back at her, drinking in her mother's sight as her hands went to her belly, feeling the small swelling there.

"Good thing that husband of yours has nerves of steel" she went on, her eyes trained on the figures playing in the grass. "Bible boy… who would have thought?" she said, snorting.

Rory chuckled.

"Certainly not me" she said.

"Had we known he would grow up to be Private Fertile, we could have skipped a couple of those losers you used to date."

"Mom" she said, her tone scolding.

"What, you don't like that nickname? What about Knight Rider?" she said with a devilish grin.

"Mom" she rolled her eyes.

"You're right, that's more your name" Lorelai chuckled.

"Mom" she protested.

"Sir Screw-a-lot?" her mother went on, showing no sign of wanting to end her torture.

"Please stop!" she groaned.

"Sergeant Yesplease?" came the next retort.

"Mom!" she was yelling now.

"G.I. Joe-nsing for you?" Lorelai went on unbothered.

"Stop it" she was laughing now.

"General Come-take-me?" her mother continued.

"Good lord" she groaned.

"I miss you, kid" Lorelai said, her voice becoming soft as she turned to her and Rory felt tears well in her eyes as she looked at her.

"I miss you too, mom" she said, the tears spilling and Lorelai hugged her into a tight embrace.

"I wish you could be here, you would love it" she said, feeling her voice falter as she held onto her mother, the feeling so real even as she felt the dream slowly fade.

"I am here, Ror" her mother replied, her voice fading as Rory slowly opened her eyes.

* * *

Her second child was a girl, born with blue eyes and blonde hair that slowly turned darker as the months passed. She watched the transition as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was as if she had expected it, since the first time she had laid her eyes on her and she had been reminded of the pictures she used to see on the mantle of her grandfather's study. They were her mother's features.

Which is why it was obvious to her that her name would become Lorelai Laura DuGray, instead of what they had picked out before.

It was Stella by her side, when she gave birth, what with her daughter having a mind of her own and ignoring mission plans and due dates.

By the time Tristan was home, she had been released from the hospital and home with two children crying in an alternating schedule.

He took the stairs by two and burst into the room as she sat on the bed, feeding Lola.

He was smitten with her from the start.

When she introduced her, telling him her name, he looked at her with an expression of unadulterated joy and hope.


	37. Epilogue: You and me babe, how about it?

Author's note: Wow, I was floored by all the shout outs and messages! Thank you for all your lovely words, they've made me so happy.

As promised, this is the epilogue.

See you all on the flip side!

* * *

She had accepted the fact that she would never be a perfect mother in the traditional sense of the word, but whenever she would have to resort to dressing Lola in mismatched clothes, or realize that neither positive or negative reinforcement would prevent Samuel from trying to erase vital information from her computer with a mere swipe of his chubby finger, she would recall a memory from her own childhood - her mother driving her to Chilton in shorts and cowboy boots, her grandparents having her portrait painted in a misguided attempt to rewrite history, Luke crying at her graduation -, and she would be reassured, that being perfect can come in many shapes and forms.

She was trying to remind herself of this very fact as she balanced her oversized bag, Lola in her carrier and the panic in her chest that the sight of Samuel running up the stairs induced in her. She could see the trip and loss of balance, the horrifying fall even before it happened, but what she was genuinely surprised by was that she didn't hear the horrible sound of Samuel hitting the ground and starting to cry, but a quite chuckle as someone caught him and lifted him high up into the air.

"Slow down, little guy. We wouldn't want your daddy to get distracted by you ending up in the hospital, would we?"

That last part was directed at Rory and she felt herself exhale a deep breath as she came face to face with the smooth faced man, who was now holding a miffed Samuel with surprisingly experienced hands.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Like what?" the man said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"With you making me feel like a failure" she murmured under her breath.

"Far from it, Miss Gilmore" the man said with an easy shrug, letting Samuel descend from his arms and race to his mom, hiding astonished behind her feet, sneaking glances at his mysterious savior.

"You know after all these years, I still don't know your name" she said, studying the man and his impeccable suit.

"That means I'm doing my job well" came his easy reply.

"Or your job for that matter" she said, not backing down, eyebrow arching slightly.

"That's okay, you'll find out soon enough" the man said with a hint of a smile and she squinted her eyes studying him.

"Why is that?" she asked, feeling uneasy.

"Master degrees aren't so your husband can be named general, Miss Gilmore. We have bigger plans for him" he said, studying Lola in her arms.

"Do those plans put him in a cushy suit like yours?" she asked, watching as the man's eyes darted to her, with a surprised glint.

"That would be the goal, yes" he nodded.

"You wanna give me a time estimate?" she asked, her tone reflecting her chronic exhaustion as she chuckled.

"It depends on a couple of things. But hopefully before this one goes to school" he said, reaching out a hand to touch Lola lightly on the head.

She watched the movement with careful concern, her eyes landing back on the man.

"What are you worried about now?" he sighed, his eyes still set on Lola and Rory wondered how he sensed her feelings so accurately.

"I've never seen you dressed in a uniform, that makes me think you're some shadowy governmental figure. I'm not sure he'll appreciate his hands being tied" she wondered out loud.

The man's eyes met hers again, the amused smile once again evident on his face.

"Miss Gilmore. My position comes with a lot of burden and responsibility, but it sure as hell does not depend on whoever whackhouse is sitting at that office at the time" he said, moving passed her to descend the stairs of the building.

She looked after him, pondering his words.

"You might want to hurry, it's about to start" he said, not bothering to turn back and she realized he was right and she had already been late before their impromptu encounter.

She reached down to grab Samuel's hand and pulled him up the stairs, racing towards the big glass door of the building.

She spotted Stella waving at her, the minute she entered and she smiled at her relieved.

"Let me help" Stella said, taking her bag from her and sliding her hand into Samuel's free hand.

"Thanks Stella" she said.

"You okay?" her friend asked.

"Yeah. I feel like I haven't been not late for the past two years" she groaned.

"With two under three. What did you expect babe?" Stella chuckled.

They walked toward the stairs, leading to the hall she had come to be familiar with.

"Is it just me or do you wish we didn't have these things to come to?" she whispered as they climbed the stairs.

"You mean if they wouldn't give them a reason to give them medals? Yeah, I feel you" Stella whispered back to her conspiratorially just as they stepped into the huge hall. "They do look hot in them dress blues though" Stella said with a chuckle as they were met with the sight of Tristan's crew standing at attention while general Grayson started his speech.

"They do, I guess" she agreed under her breath.

"You think? Otherwise I don't know how you got roped into two under three" Stella whispered back to her and they snickered quietly, sharing a wink.

She tried to concentrate on the speech, hushing her daughter fussing in her carrier. She was a true Gilmore girl that one, with eyes as blue as her mother's and the voice of her grandmother. And also some of her father's mischief she suspected.

Her toddler was still holding on to her hand, looking around in astonishment at the crowd gathered, but she knew it would be only a matter of time before he got his bearings and his courage, letting go of her hand to explore the premises.

She was almost thankful they were late and besides it was not going to be a big and loud affair, this one.

She looked around to be seeing only people she knew by heart by now, the family of those in Tristan's Delta crew.

She turned her attention back to the general, speaking without a microphone but still commanding the room.

"We are here today, to honor those quiet professionals who won't be applauded and celebrated at parades, won't have their names written on landmarks and their faces preserved in history" he said and she was drawn to look at the handful of soldiers standing in their dress blues on the far side of the hall.

"Yet their dedication, their selfless professionalism, their quiet endurance are what this country is built on, and the secret strength that protects it. There are no great deeds without sacrifice, there are no acts of heroism, without unwavering and unfaltering support. The reason this crew is able to do all it does is because of all the people here today, making their own sacrifices. I am honored to be handing out this Superior Unit Award in recognition of the efforts of Combat Applications Group 14-7 for their actions during Operation Inherent Resolve. It is an award fit for only the best, but is a mere symbol of the gratitude we feel towards these men and their families."

Rory watched as the decorations were given out one after another, the last one being placed on her husband's chest.

Her eyes met his, blue on blue, and her chest expanded with a calmness only he could give her.

She felt Samuel break free from her grasp as soon as the formality was over and the quietly buzzing crowd moved towards their family members.

She watched as the small crowd parted slightly, Tristan walking towards her with an excited Samuel sitting on his arm.

"This one got away" he chuckled as he greeted her with a kiss.

She sighed.

"Yeah, he's been doing that a lot today" she said, trying to give Samuel her best scolding look.

She watched as the little boy studied the colorful decorations on his father's chest and her eyes landed on the purple heart, her face becoming troubled for a moment.

"What?" Tristan nudged her gently and she forced a smile on her face.

"Nothing, I've just been thinking of…"

"Spinner?" he asked, finishing her sentence for her and she looked at him with a sad smile as she nodded.

"I've been thinking about him too" he said, focusing his pale eyes on Samuel, still enthralled by his medals.

"And something else also" she heard him say and she furrowed her brows in question, their eyes meeting.

"Remember when we first met?" he asked, his eyes focused on hers, pale blue and beautiful.

"In English class?" she asked, confused, and he chuckled, shaking his head lightly.

"No, I mean here" he said and Rory was reminded of the day, now seemingly a world away.

"Yeah?" she nodded.

"I need to tell you you were right. You were right and I was wrong about your article" he went on, his words calm and quiet.

She searched her memory, realization dawning slowly as she considered his words and she felt her heart constrict as she listened, waiting for him to go on.

"I need you to know that you were right and you and Sammy and Lola..., you are all I think about. You are all I think about to get back to" he said quietly, his eyes drifting over Samuel and Lola before focusing back on her.

She smiled, closing her eyes as the tears were stinging her eyes.

"Tristan…" she sighed, moving into his free arm.

"I just wanted you to know that" he whispered into her hair before kissing the top of her head and she held onto him, the four of them standing together in the joyous crowd.


End file.
